There Are Things
by hyugesoo
Summary: James Potter loved his wife and friends, but he loved his child more than anything in the world. And he wasn't taking any chances with little Harrison's life. My take on the godlike!dark Harry trope. Harry/OC, HPDM, HPSS, One-sided HPLV
1. With the Muggles

before the start.

 _(Strange things happen to strange people.)_

For as long as he can remember, Harrison Potter has always been alone.

He wasn't lacking in attention or affections from others; on the contrary, the people of Little Whinging always made it a point to crow over his supposed beauty and grace whenever the boy was in their sights, and far from their touch.

His home life was no different; the Dursleys had always showered him with gifts. Uncle Vernon always seemed to have an extra toy model of his new drill, which he gruffly dropped into tiny, pale fingers. Aunt Petunia was a woman of few mistakes- truly bordering on an obsessive-compulsive scale- but her groceries always seemed a little bit too much, and ended up piling his plate with all of his favorites. Even little Dudley of 3 years, seemed intent to share all of his possessions with his quiet, green-eyed cousin.

No, it hadn't been neglect. But still, Harrison was alone.

Even with the amount of gifts the Dursleys showered upon him, there was always a certain distance, a momentary pause before he ended up too close. They were nice enough, but they- Dudley included- never engaged in any of the normal, familial contact that Harrison had seen in families on the telly.

At the age of four, Harrison had all the material things he could ever want, but he had never been hugged. The only times he had actually touched another human being was accidental, when he had been reaching out for a muffin across the dinner table and his fingers had brushed Aunt Petunia's, or when he bumped against Dudley going down the stairs in the drowsy mornings.

Harrison had thought at first that this was normal, but the amount of hugs and kisses bestowed on Dudley had made him realize that maybe _he_ was the odd one out. After all, all the families in the movies and his books always seemed to be touching in a way.

And so, child Harrison had always watched those hugs between Aunt Petunia and Dudley with a terrible hunger. And at night, in his dark room, he would always stare at his arms above the sheets, before carefully wrapping them around his torso. He had watched the blue veins shifting and running under his almost translucent flesh, before trailing his icy fingers all over his face.

He was always cold, no matter how many layers he wore or how long he touched the radiator until his fingers turned red and blistered.

(Maybe it was human contact he needed. Those hugs always seemed pretty warm, after all.)

When he reached the age of five, he had been enrolled in the same primary school as Dudley.

There, the distinction became even clearer.

Oh his first day, children swarmed him on all sides, grins easy and words welcoming. The girls exclaimed in giggly voices over his fair skin and his shoulder-length black hair. The boys marveled over his green eyes and delicate cheekbones. Even the teachers had smiled affectionately at the boy, and the lunch ladies had slipped him an extra cookie at lunch.

He was at the center of attention, but it didn't last.

Child Harrison tried, bless him.

He had tried to join in on the dodgeball the boys were playing during recess, but they had only grinned uneasily when Harrison had stepped forward and brushed his hands against the ball.

He had turned towards the girls, still eager to play tag with them, but instead they had led him to shade of a tree at the side of the playground. Just rest, they had said, and with suddenly pale faces, they had skipped away.

When he had accidentally touched the hands of the lunch ladies when he had accepted his meal, they had blanched and flinched away, faces twisted unnaturally.

It was the same with his teacher, who had reached out to pat his head. Her fingers had barely brushed his black hair when she had retracted them quickly, as if burned.

It was strange; whenever Harrison got too close to them, shivers would rack their bodies and complex, unsettled emotions would flash on their suddenly too white faces.

And so Harrison had spent the rest of the day balefully watching the children around him scream and laugh, alone.

As the school years progressed, Harrison matured, and with his growing age, his features sharpened. His green eyes became molten emerald, his black hair lengthened and brushed his shoulders in a silky wave, his lips twisted in a crooked smile that beckoned everyone to his feet.

His fellow students all started to view him as _precious Harrison,_ but still, nothing changed. The boys just blushed and casually ruffled their hair whenever they caught him staring at them as they played in the sun, and the girls just giggled and batted their lashes at him when they saw him. But still, the distance between them and Harrison was a concrete wall.

Harrison's perfect grades had also done nothing to breach the gap between him and the others; it only served to further place him on a pedestal. When he had first received his 10 out of 10 test, his classmates had congratulated him and grinned, before turning to their friends to moan over their own grades.

(He was a genius, but he still didn't understand why others couldn't stand to stay with him.)

Harrison had gripped his test paper so tightly it crumpled in his hand, before green eyes had hardened.

If they didn't _want_ to be with him, then he had no need for them, child Harrison thought.

He withdrew within himself, pulling away from any form of interaction. And so Harrison had passed his school years, alone, with only his thoughts for company.

the beginning of the end.

 _(He never meant it to happen, it just did.)_

Like most things, it started out small.

Harrison had noticed that on the rare occasions he succumbed to his cousin Dudley's wheedling to join him in the park, the grass around where he would sit and read would look a bit brown after a while. So for a meter radius, the grass was harsh and rough to the touch, but outside that, the green leaves would sway gently in the breeze, unaware of the dead ones next to it.

It was a curious thing, and before he could observe the phenomenon more closely, Dudley always got tired of watching him flip page after page on a book that _didn't even have pictures!_ It was always much more trouble to ignore the larger boy, since he had been gifted with an enormously loud voice. Dudley would throw a tantrum, piteously turning puppy dog eyes on him and make to grab Harrison's hand, before freezing mid-motion and paling.

Child Harrison did not know what fear was at his young age, but if he was a little older, then he would have been shocked at the amount of it overflowing in Dudley's eyes. But Harrison was but a child, and all he saw was a nervous Dudley. So he would sigh, shaking his head wearily and indulge his cousin, and the brief moment of terror would be forgotten by young minds. He would set his book and the curious grass incident aside for Dudley's wild stories of looking for treasure and space pirates.

When Harrison had grown a bit older and entered primary school, there had been a class hamster who was lovingly named Pudding after a food fight episode during the first day of school. Of course, as it was a pet of a couple of grade schoolers, the poor hamster had been passed around by grubby, sticky hands, drooled on by some of the boys and had colorful pigtails on and paint on various areas of its fur after the girls had conducted their beauty makeover.

Even through all of this, Pudding had been an extremely healthy hamster, with bulging cheeks and short, fat legs. So it was quite a surprise when it had died so suddenly, going limp after being held quietly for a few minutes by Harrison.

It had been the first time he had held it, since he had no interest in the creature, but his cousin had insisted he hold the soft fur. After a while, Harrison had noticed that the fast beat of Pudding's heart had stopped and he had given it a few experimental shakes. It had limply gone with the motion, and Harrison had ended up depositing the very dead hamster on the teacher's desk.

The teacher had then attempted to calm the hysterical children _who wanted Pudding right now and why wasn't it moving?_ Harrison vaguely remembered the hasty story the teacher had said, something about how Pudding was now in a better place filled with carrots and grass, but he had known that the hamster was dead.

Year after year, it was the same. He observed the small lifeforms around him, counting silently in his head until their demise. It was never the same amount of time, but the death was a constant in child Harrison's life.

And finally, when he had enough of the constant suspicion, on the eve of his seventh birthday, he had stayed up late, waiting until he could hear the resounding snores of the Dudleys, before sneaking out the backdoor. He had a hunch in his mind, and he would find out once and for all.

Looking around the backyard, the small boy had spotted a squirrel peering curiously at him, and with extremely quick movements, he had lunged at it and trapped it between his two cold hands.

It had struggled, with its nails scratching his palms in a desperate attempt to escape, and an annoyed sigh had left the boy's lips. With a tiny flick of his wrist, the squirrel had frozen mid-movement.

Settling down on the ground with a pleased smile playing around his lips, Harrison had waited patiently, checking his watch ever so often. And after six minutes had passed, the squirrel fell limp, its heart still. With a cursory glance, Harrison examined it, nodding once before tossing it on the ground.

The grass around where he had sat had turned a sickly shade of brown.

Harrison didn't really know what to call what he did, but he now knew for sure that he could kill things by mere touch.

 _(And maybe that's the reason why people stayed away from him, he thinks.)_

With his curiosity satisfied, the boy had gone back inside the silent house and burrowed under his deep green comforter, humming a tune as he admired his small hands.

After that night, Harrison had taken care not to touch any living thing for too long, dwindling his already minuscule contact with others, and he had even taken to wearing gloves, but as he was living with three other humans, he supposed it couldn't be avoided.

With a sigh, Harrison eyes the three pale bodies lying silently in the living room. He had levitated them here when they had collapsed without warning, and with a quick examination, he had concluded that the Dursleys were dead.

(Since that night, Harrison had experimented and he had figured out quickly that taking life was not the only thing he could do; when he wanted something to happen, he merely had narrow his eyes or flick his wrist and books would float in front of him, or annoying children testing his patience would hurt because he wanted them to.)

He hadn't meant to kill them, but with the amount of contact he had with the family, he supposed there wasn't really anything he could do.

Sitting down gracefully on the floor, Harrison takes his bottom lip between his teeth and chews on it, carefully thinking about his options. Either he calls the emergency line and ends up in social services, or he runs.

In the end, he stretches out his hand, frowning in concentration. If he is to pretend as if his uncle had gotten drunk and gone on a rampage, beating up his aunt and son until they died, then he must change a few things about the house.

The wood and steel of the furniture creak loudly as they rearrange themselves forcefully, and the blood from the fresh wounds of the Dursleys splash sickeningly on the floor.

Surveying the crime scene he had just manipulated, the little boy crosses the hallway and dials, forcing a sob and breathing heavily into the receiver. He stutters and cries, and the person on the other end is quick to reassure him that there is help on the way. For a few minutes, the person utters vague promises that _everything will be alright_ , and that _honey, we'll take care of you_ , _the ambulance is almost there_.

He hears the sirens in the distance and in no time at all, there are adults surrounding him and cringing at the blood and asking him questions and waving their hands everywhere as they set up the stretchers and other medical equipment.

Amidst all the rising chaos, Harrison stands, a satisfied gleam in his bright green eyes as a young paramedic wraps him in a blanket and leads him by the hand outside, away from the blood and death.

There was a long debate, where the men and women dressed in shiny badges and standard blue police uniforms gestured with hands still tinged with the blood of his relatives. They could not decide where to send him, since the only living relative he had left- a hideous woman named Marge- couldn't be reached.

The women with the tight buns and the soft eyes had argued that he was too young to be put in social services, too delicate. The orphanage was out of the question, of course. He would be eaten alive by the older kids who had tendencies to bully, and _don't you dare deny it, you know what goes on in those orphanages._ The men had merely looked away with clenched fists, unable to rebut the claims. They had no desire to send the little boy to that kind of environment, after all.

The clock's hands had run on, hours passing and Harrison's future still undecided. Most of the police had sat back, tiredly rubbing their eyes as they watched the boy sitting quietly in the captain's office. With feet barely brushing the floor from his seat, large emerald eyes still moist and an unnatural pale sheen on his soft cheeks, the boy had painted a very, very sad picture to the world-weary police. This was not the first time something like this happened; alcohol-induced men had destroyed more families and futures than they could count. But the thought of a boy, a mere nine-year old, all alone in the world, had struck a chord in their hardened hearts.

Slowly, the suggestions had picked up again, all of them reluctant to leave the boy in social service's ruthless hands.

Green eyes observed them, the glass divider doing little to muffle the heated debate outside. He had taken a gamble, letting the police handle his future, but as a young child, he could do nothing on his own yet.

between ends.

 _(They shouldn't have done that, now look at them.)_

In the end, Marge could not be found. For an extremely obese woman, she was quite hard to locate, and so Harrison was placed in social services' hands.

The first foster family he had was a couple unable to bear a child. The lady couldn't have been over 25, but the man was well over his 50s. Harrison had read about men like that, who had too much money and not enough personality or looks to get a decent wife, so they bought a younger, prettier one.

They had seemed nice enough at the start. The lady had been welcoming but maintained a professional sort of distance. It suited Harrison fine, but on the rare occasion their bare flesh had brushed against each other, the woman always flinched and looked… _fearful_.

(With age comes knowledge, and Harrison was no longer a child who did not know what fear was.)

The man, on the other hand, was the opposite of his trophy wife; his hands were always wandering over the boy, trailing up his face and stroking his shoulder.

Harrison had tried to put some distance between him and his foster father since it would be bothersome for him to suddenly die like the Dursleys. He stepped back and away when the man got too close, when old, wrinkled fingers had lingered longer and longer on his clothed skin.

He had wondered at first whether the old man would feel cold and fear, but it seems as if time dulls all the senses.

The boy tried to be good, he really did, but when the man stepped over the line, Harrison lost his control.

It was late at night, the first night after the social services workers had finished their weeklong observation, and the man had finally had enough of the boy's evasion. He entered Harrison's room and locked it behind him, unwilling to let the boy escape his touches once again.

The man had been ecstatic when he had first lain eyes on Harrison; the boy was perfect. The milky, untouched skin, the pink, plump lips, the silky black hair framing the most delicately beautiful face he had ever seen. The man could barely keep his self-control during that first meeting; he had been hard pressed to pretend everything was normal and fine during that first week of observation. But now, _but now._ The social services workers were gone, and his wife had gone out with her friends. There was nothing stopping him now.

He crept silently towards the bed, taking great care not to wake Harrison.

He didn't know that the moment the door opened, so did unholy green eyes.

When he had drawn close, and when his intentions had been all too clear, Harrison had pushed him away with his will. He held him prisoner with his mind, pushed against the floor, and Harrison made him scream, just like the way he would have if the man had gotten what he wanted.

Bright green eyes hardened at the thought, and Harrison lost what little remained of his innocence that night.

But with loss, there is gain.

As he watched the man writhe in agony, twitching, needy fingers brushed against Harrison's bare leg. With a gasp, Harrison had felt all of the man's emotions pouring over him; the fiery rage, the roaring despair, the painful lust, the terrible, all-encompassing _fear_.

It was all too much at once; this had never happened before, and Harrison had flinched at the torrent of emotions crashing against him, drowning him in their potency. He had wrenched himself away, bodily, and blindly lashed out to make it all _stop_.

When Harrison's vision had cleared, the man had stopped screaming.

When the wife came back, it was to the sight of her husband dead and blood painting their bedroom. She had screamed, called 911 and searched for the little boy who she had just fostered, worry for his wellbeing overriding her instinctive fear for his frigid pale flesh.

She found him in his room, wrapped under what must have been six blankets, eyes glowing unnaturally as he shivered and _shivered_.

They had stared at each other for quite a long time, both frozen in different ways- her, from fear and the slowly overpowering suspicion, and him, from the unwanted revelations of that night. The moment is broken when sirens blare, piercing the silence with its shrill rings.

Once again, Harrison is surrounded by medics and policemen, but this time with hard eyes and tough hands. Someone reaches out to him and clamps their hand on his trembling shoulder, and Harrison flinches away from the constricting fingers, because with every brush of their skin comes the clouding of his own senses with their emotions. It is a sensory overload, and he lashes out again and again.

He can hear the sharp intake of breath coming from the policeman holding him and he knows that the man can feel the sharp pain that always comes with touching his bare skin. But instead of letting go, the hold becomes even tighter, and a rush of cold anger and pain and fear comes with it.

Harrison can feel the man's emotions blanketing him, covering his skin and nose until he can't breathe. He tries to gasp, or shout, but the moment he opens his mouth the sensation intensifies, and Harrison can feel the bitter taste of bile rising up his throat.

He ends up doubling over, acrid vomit rushing out of his mouth and splashing sickeningly over the floor and his shoes.

Mercifully, the hold loosens and he wraps his arms around his torso, dry-heaving and trembling as the policemen wait for his nausea to fade. When the floor isn't rolling underneath him and when air flows easier into his lungs, Harrison stands and nods. The hands are gentler this time, a hovering weight on his shoulder as they lead him outside and into the police car.

There is an investigation, and the police are less sympathetic to his plight than when he had killed the Dursleys. Apparently, there had been bloody footprints leading from the man's room to Harrison's. Footprints small enough to be a child's.

Harrison had nearly cursed at that, but had kept his pathetic expression on. He had muttered something about finding the man like that, and been so scared and shocked that he had fled into the sanctuary of his room.

Of course, there was little to no evidence that he had been the cause of either his relatives' or his foster father's death, but to any eye, it was quite the suspicious predicament he was in.

* * *

In the end, he was still a minor, so they had sentenced him to a mandatory, six-month stay at the nearby mental hospital to deal with the supposed trauma.

The mental hospital wasn't so bad, after a while. He was always watched, through the cameras in the corners and the one-way glass walls, but Harrison was quite used to having eyes on him.

He quickly falls into a routine: waking up early, eating his surprisingly good breakfast, then spending some time coloring and doing some stress exercises. His morning consists of a fragile peacefulness.

After lunch, he is required to meet a psychologist every afternoon. The man's office is on the second floor, where only the milder patients are allowed. Harrison's room is on the sixth floor, for the more troubled invalids, and a male nurse has to accompany him to the lower floor every day.

Harrison thinks it's a waste of his and the nurse's time; there is absolutely no way Harrison would reveal his abilities here just to escape when the hospital is required to release him in a couple of months time anyways.

The doctor's office is different from the sixth-floor rooms; the walls are painted a soothing teal color, with plastic fish and stars hanging from the pale ceiling. The lighting is also distinct. Instead of the standard, harsh white bulbs, the man had opted for a warmer orange light. It was the epitome of a nursery, and Harrison hated it.

There are no cameras in the man's office, however, which Harrison thinks is a slight relief.

The sessions are long and filled with a strained silence. The doctor had been eager to help him at first, with a smile so wide it hurt to look at.

The doctor did try, always coming up with different ways to get the boy to open up, but in their afternoon sessions, Harrison never spoke. With baleful green eyes and tightly-pursued lips, Harrison spent the sessions picking at his fraying gloves and alternately glaring at the man and the door that cut off his only avenue for escape.

The six months pass excruciatingly slow, but in the end, the hospital is required to release the boy. The day he steps out of the hospital is a gloomy one, and Harrison thinks that it is quite apt.

the awakening.

 _(This is the reason why.)_

Harrison is transferred to an orphanage after that at the edge of small town, with a population of 1,308. He snorts softly as pass by the sign welcoming travelers to St. Brutus, which draws the attention of the social services woman driving the car they are in. He ignores her questioning glances and instead takes in his new surroundings.

The orphanage is rundown, with the air of a rowdy child uncared for. The paint is peeling around the gaping holes that are doors and windows, and the yard is unkempt and overtaken by weeds and insects.

Harrison follows the social services woman- was her name Kate? he can't seem to remember- down what could have been a stone walkway before but is now green with moss and brown with dirt. He can hear the disapproving sounds she makes under breath, and Harrison is well-inclined to echo them.

She barely stays long enough to drop his bags and hand over his papers to the woman in charge, and then Harrison is suddenly all alone with a bunch of children and an unhappy matron.

 _Useless woman, that Kate,_ Harrison thinks viciously, before staring sullenly at the group of children. There is silence before they all rush towards him and start chattering excitedly, throwing questions about _who he is_ and _why does he wear those weird gloves_ and _what did he do to get here_ and _oh boy did he come from London_ and _if he did, did he ride the tube?_

Harrison feels a bit of nostalgia at the noise, remembering his elementary days when boys and girls would jostle each other to have a chance to talk to him. He is suddenly hit by a wave of loneliness, as he thinks that nothing has quite changed since those years. His jaw clenches, and it is all he can do to prevent himself from shoving everyone away from his person.

"Alright, leave the new kid alone, you lot probably terrified him with all your girlish screaming!"

Green eyes widen at the new voice, and they meet amused grey ones over the din of pre-pubescent whining. A hand reaches out and takes his bag, and the older boy with the grey eyes hoists it over his shoulder and cocks his head up the stairs.

"Come on, I'll show you to your room," he says, and Harrison raises his eyebrow and musters up a soft thanks.

They make their way up the rickety stairs, leaving behind the gaggle of boys behind. The duo reaches the room at the end of the second floor, and with the air of put-upon pretentiousness, the older boy waves his free hand dramatically while bowing.

"Your majesty, your humble accommodations," he says pompously, and Harrison cannot help the laugh that escapes him. A grin spreads the other boy's lips, and he sets down Harrison's bag by his bed.

"There you go, you look so much better when you're not plotting to kill us all!" the boy cheekily says, winking at the other.

"I wasn't-" Harrison protests, feeling heat crawl up his neck and cheeks. What a curious feeling, he thinks.

"Joking, your majesty," is the reply that cuts him off, and Harrison is quite affronted and confused with the ease the other boy could act around him. It is quite refreshing and so different from the way others acted.

"What's your name?" he asks abruptly and feels a tiny sliver of humiliation well up inside when the other boy widens his eyes in surprise.

"Arthur. I think we'll have a lot of fun together…?"

"Harrison. My name's Harrison."

A smile as bright as the sun blossoms on Arthur's face and Harrison stares unashamedly at it. He can feel a hunger in his belly, trying to pull him forward and _touch and swallow_ that happiness, but Harrison plants his feet and clenches his hands. He knows what will happen when his bare skin touches another's.

He allows himself to look though, and he is still staring when Arthur reaches out to ruffle Harrison's hair. Eyes widening, Harrison tries to dodge the hand, with the faces of all the people who he had killed with his skin flashing in a blur behind his eyes. But he is too slow, and when Arthur's long fingers gently pat his black hair, he freezes.

He expects Arthur to flinch away, to retract his hand and make some excuse to get away. Harrison idly wonders what he is going to say, what reason the boy will tell him before leaving and staying away from him.

But Arthur doesn't move away; he just keeps stroking the ebony hair, making some sort of remark about its softness, and Harrison slowly lets out a confused sound from the back of his throat.

Harrison cannot remember the last time someone has touched him without some sort of fear or startled disgust behind it, because of his uncanny ability to know what someone was feeling the moment their skin touches him. But all he can feel from Arthur is warmth.

For the first time, Harrison isn't cold, and he wonders how he has survived this long without warmth.

He does not lean into the hand, but he allows it to stay longer than he normally would, and the knowing smile on Arthur's face is ignored.

* * *

Harrison tries to avoid the older boy after that.

He has been cold his entire life; the warmth, no matter how inviting, scares him. Harrison remembers his childhood days when he placed his fingers on the radiator for warmth until they burned and blistered; Arthur is somewhat like a radiator. Harrison fears that if he stays close to the older boy long enough, he might go up in flames.

Arthur doesn't share the same thoughts. He follows Harrison around, sitting next to him at breakfast, making inane one-sided conversations throughout the day that Harrison rarely responds to, and generally just latching onto the younger boy.

Harrison attempts to ditch him, climbing up trees to hide early in the morning or tucking himself into a small nook in the orphanage, but Arthur has an uncanny ability to appear right when Harrison thinks he's not going to. He always does, a quirky grin on his lips and with an apple or some other pastry that Harrison is sure the older had stolen from somewhere.

Another thing that frustrates Harrison to no end is the constant amount of skinship Arthur requires. Whether it be from a casual arm slung around Harrison's bony shoulders or a trail of fire from Arthur's fingertips as he brushes Harrison's fringe out of startled, green eyes. It is always a shock, always a burn.

Harrison always shoves the older boy away, harsh and swift, with his gloved hands, before the fire incinerates him alive.

(Harrison always watches the boy's face closely though, when his fingers rain down on Harrison's cold skin. He watches and he _feels_ with his ability for the fear. And time and time again, Harrison does not understand why Arthur's eyes remain clear, remain grey and warm like molten silver.)

This continues on for weeks, until one especially cold November night.

It is a restless one, and Harrison tosses and turns on his frail bed, unable to slip into unconsciousness. For some reason, his nerves are all on high, and there is a ringing in his ears. His head is pounding a rhythm, and with each beat pain radiates all throughout his body.

He pushes away the blanket and opens his window, leaning out and allowing the wind to drag its icy fingers along his scalp. It is a temporary relief, dulling the ache from the frigid cold, but it doesn't last.

Harrison groans softly, wishing this uncomfortable feeling away with his abilities, but the pain merely increases tenfold. The sudden spike of agony startles him, and he loses his grip on the windowsill as he bends over, and falls.

If he was a normal child, he would've gotten a few broken bones from the fall, but impossibly, his body slows down as the ground rushes to meet him. His body lands gently on the snow-covered grass, and a soft sigh leaves his lips as the white snow soaks his hair and clothes.

The world is quiet here, he thinks, as snowflakes gently float around him, covering the world in a soft white. In the darkness, it seems as if he is all alone in this desolate land of white, and a dull throbbing settles heavily in his chest. No matter how far he has gone from his life at the Dursleys, it seems as if he is still motionless- he cannot run from his own loneliness.

He raises his arm, fingers outstretched, to paw at the night sky. His bare flesh is a stark contrast to the inky black, but as Harrison splays out his fingers, he sees that the tips are blending into the background.

" _Oh_ ," he murmurs, the word escaping his cold lips out into a soft puff of air. He wonders if this is the reason why he is in so much pain- he is disintegrating, starting from the tips of his fingers and all the way to his toes. He can see through his knuckles now, the stars glinting and shining through his translucent digits.

 _Is this what it means to die?_

He wonders if he should do something about it, if he should fight to stay alive. The inching of transparency in his body is slow, and he can probably figure out how to solve this problem.

 _But what else is there to live for?_

He will always be alone anyways, separated and unable to truly be with someone. He will only cause death; it is fitting that he has somehow caused his own.

He lays there, quiet and aching in places that cannot be seen.

He doesn't know how long he stays there, the cold seeping into his flesh, when the sound crunch of footsteps on snow awakens him from his pain. He doesn't have the energy to move though, and he merely waits to see who the outsider is.

He does not expect the pained shout of his name, drawn out into three sentences ( _Har ri son!),_ the sharp burst of pure terror licking his insides, or the crackling and roaring and _burning_ angry fire that gathers him up and hold him close.

"A-arthur?" he calls out, because who else could this inferno belong to?

A pale face comes into his narrowed vision, and dimly Harrison thinks that this is the first time he has seen the boy so white. Everyone else who comes into contact with him turns pale; now, Arthur feels it too.

"Thank god, I thought you were…," Arthur's words trail off, and his grey eyes close briefly in pain. When he reopens them, they are molten silver, and Harrison nearly gasps as the arms around him suddenly constrict and lips descend roughly on his.

The flames are pouring into him now, dancing angrily and scorching everything in their path. They melt all the frozen glaciers in his body, turning them into liquid that boils and blazes.

Along with the heat comes the passion, so similar to the fire that it consumes Harrison wholly, body and soul. Everything around him is Arthur, and he can _feel_ everything.

Arthur's thoughts and emotions run wildly inside Harrison, and they threaten to drown Harrison.

 _Don't leave me here._

 _Please._

 _Stay._

 _Be with me._

 _I'll never leave you._

 _I'll take good care of you._

 _I- I love-_

Harrison wrenches himself away from Arthur's lips, shock tinging his blood as he breathes hard. His head is dizzy, and he has a hard time figuring where he ends and where Arthur begins. The other boy's thoughts are still swirling in his mind, and Harrison tries in vain to return them to Arthur, pushing them away as gently as he could.

Licking his lips, Arthur merely leans his forehead against Harrison's, silver eyes burning into emerald.

"Stay," he whispers, and the word resonates something within Harrison. It is so full of fear and desperate, human hope, that Harrison has to bite his lip and look down.

He stares at his hands instead, placed delicately against Arthur's broad chest. He wonders what it means, that they are no longer transparent. The pounding in his head is gone now, no longer radiating pain all throughout his body. In fact, he feels stronger now, warmer, and it is such a contrast from his earlier feeling that Harrison gasps.

 _Does this mean he's no longer dying?_

"Stay," Arthur murmurs again, and it brings Harrison back to this moment. Harrison realizes that _Arthur_ brought him back, from his near-death.

 _Arthur_ brought him back.

Harrison bites his lip harder, because he wants so badly to give up, to let Arthur hold him close and warm him up to the edges of his soul, but he's so frightened that he would be the cause of yet another death.

Arthur must have seen the rejection in Harrison's glazed green eyes, because he says, one last time, " _Stay_ ", before leaning in and capturing Harrison's lips again.

This time, Harrison is ready, and he can pinpoint the exact moment Arthur starts to flow inside him. It's not just Arthur's feelings or thoughts or hopes; it's Arthur himself, his very essence, his very soul.

It fills Harrison up to the brim, whispering promises of happiness and warmth into every empty space in Harrison and caressing every lonely strand in the boy. Harrison is overwhelmed, because _no one_ has ever felt this way for him _ever_.

When they separate, it takes longer for Arthur to leave Harrison's mind, and when it does, Harrison feels emptier than ever.

Dimly, Harrison wonders if this is what soulmates are.

"Sta-,"

Harrison shuts the other boy up with a quick press of his lips, and the action thrills him to the core when Arthur's soul comes briefly to caress his own.

"Okay," he whispers, hating himself for being weak, but unable to resist. The fire is already inside him, and he cannot, for the life of him, bear to put it out.

Arthur hugs him roughly again, burying his face into a cold, pale neck. Harrison shifts and tentatively wraps his arms around the boy, before glancing up at the black sky and sighing.

 _Going up in flames seems a whole lot better than death by ice anyways._

* * *

After that night, they soon become _Arthur and Harrison_ , a package deal. You can't see one without the other, and if Arthur's hands slowly moves lower and lower down Harrison's back, or if Harrison's bare fingers lingers on Arthur's nape longer than strictly necessary, no one says anything.

Arthur's effect on him doesn't wane with every interaction they have; on the contrary, with every touch and every word they exchange, Harrison can feel his walls being broken down by that warmth. Every day he allows the boy to sit closer, hold on to him tighter and smile at him longer. Arthur's presence is intoxicating, and Harrison breathes it all in, with teeth sharpened and fingers digging into the boy's flesh.

* * *

They talk most of the time they are together, and Harrison finds out more about Arthur's past. The boy had a family, a loving one that gave him hugs and cherished him. They were dirt poor though, and when the fire had ravaged their small house and killed his parents, Arthur had been left all alone with nothing to his name. He had been rotated between foster homes, much like Harrison himself, but he had merely acted out.

Here, Arthur had paused in his story and lifted his fingers that had been stroking Harrison's hair to scratch sheepishly at his jaw. He had been heartbroken at his parents' death, and he had thought that being with a foster family would only betray their memory.

And so Arthur had been transferred to the orphanage, and he had stayed for over five years. He had always made sure to not get adopted, and he was merely biding his time until he turned eighteen and he could finally get a job and have his own home.

Weeks into their pseudo-relationship, Arthur had slowly started to hint that he would take Harrison with him when he left the orphanage, and with a heavy heart, Harrison would only nod and look away.

(Arthur had suffered enough in this life; Harrison had no intention of killing him as well, no matter how inadvertently.)

* * *

When Harrison wakes up one night in his bed, sweat pouring down his face and the blood of all those he killed on his hands, he shivers and shiver and _shivers_ in his cold, empty room. His fingers are starting to tingle again, and with a brief bout of horror, he watches them slowly start to become transparent again. Unconsciously, he leaves his bed and makes his way to the only person who makes him feel warmth and heat and that delicious fire that licks up his inside until the cold is but a distant memory.

Arthur's room is the one next to his, and the door is unlocked. He climbs into Arthur's bed carelessly, breaths escaping his lips and into the room, loud and harsh. Arthur opens his eyes with a curse on his lips, half-asleep, but when he takes in the way Harrison stares unseeingly at his pale fingers, he rises and kisses the boy.

That night is the first time they make love, and Harrison cries into the pillow, because he suddenly feels his age. It is the first time he thinks that he hates his ability, because he knows that if he stays with Arthur, he would only end up killing him. He tries to say this to him when they are lying side by side breathing heavily, tries to tell the older boy that his dreams about them together after the orphanage will never happen, but the words are stuck in his throat.

Arthur watches him silently, before leaning over to kiss his mouth harshly.

"It'll be fine, Harrison," he murmurs gently, and Harrison swallows his fears and lets himself cling to the warmth that he has been searching for his entire life.


	2. Interlude I

before hogwarts.

 _(There was never any chance he would be any different.)_

On Harrison's eleventh birthday, a pale man dressed in pure black knocks promptly on the worn down door of St. Brutus' Orphanage for the Criminally Insane Children. Sneering slightly at the name of the building, he wipes his knuckles on a handkerchief.

The door opens to reveal a masculine woman with a perpetual scowl on her ugly face. Examining the man in front of her, she huffs in frustration and leans against the doorframe.

"Who're you?" she spat.

The man pays no heed to the woman's rude tone and nods his head, reaching into his pocket and extracting a deep brown stick.

"If you're one of them salespeople, I'll tell you what I told the last one. We don't want any of your-" her words are cut off as the man waves the stick in front of her face. The woman's eyes turn dull, and without another word she steps back and holds the door for the man.

"Thank you, matron, that will be all," the man says contemptuously, walking in the orphanage with no hesitation.

He then climbs up the rackety stairs across the front door and makes his way to the room at the end of the hallway. Reaching into his pocket once more, he takes out a thick envelope, and black eyes scan the writing on the it.

 _Mr. Harrison J. Potter_

 _St. Brutus' Orphanage for the Criminally Insane Children_

 _Second Floor_

 _Room at the End of the Hallway_

The man grits his teeth and exhales loudly through his nose, his eyes swirling with anger. He surveys the door in front of him, and imagines the boy behind it. How did he end up in an orphanage, of all places?

With another sigh, he shoves the envelope back into his pocket and sharply raps on the door. After a long pause, the man hears an unintelligible hiss before something like sheets are ruffled. Footsteps are heard making their way to the door hastily, and the pale man's black eyes widen as he takes in the scene before him.

The one who opened the door is a half-naked boy who couldn't be older than fifteen. He takes one look at the man blocking his way out and immediately averts his eyes, shouldering his way out quickly. The man is still frozen, staring at the room and into bright green eyes.

Harrison sighs and stands up, unashamed of his bare torso. He leaves the messed-up bed and walks towards the window, leaving a respectable distance between him and the man.

Silence permeates the air as both males observe each other. It soon becomes clear that the boy leaning against the window has no intention to break it, so the older man clears his throat and takes a step inside the tiny room.

"Harrison Potter?" he questions, his voice wavering. A smirk quirks up the boy's lips, and the man narrows his eyes.

He disregards the heat on his neck and cheeks, and draws himself up to his full height. He continues, in a stronger voice, "You have been chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Here he pauses, and he pulls out the envelope again. Hesitating slightly, he makes his way to the boy and hands it to him. Harrison raises an eyebrow and slowly accepts it, green eyes darting quickly over the lettering.

"I am Severus Snape, a professor at the school. I've been sent here in order to accompany you to Diagon Alley. It is a place wherein you can buy all your necessary school things."

Harrison looks up and there is a glint in his eyes.

"So," Harrison drawls, and before he could stop himself, Severus shudders at the voice. It was full of raw power, something a child should not have. "It is magic I can do."

It is not a question, but Severus treats it as such.

"Yes, it is magic. What you have been doing is accidental magic, which children normally have. By the time they reach eleven, they are entered into schools of magic, where we teach them how to control it," the older male explains in clipped tones to hide the quick pounding of his heart. He does not understand why Potter is in an orphanage, and why he is unaware of his magical heritage.

Severus Snape does not like not understanding. After all, as a spy, his life depends on the information he is able to secure. His eyes narrow as he watches the boy, who had opened the envelope and is currently reading the contents.

 _How did he end up here?_

Harrison finishes reading the letter and tucks it back in the envelope neatly, mind whirling. He was not egotistic enough to think that he was the only one who could control things and people with his will, but for there to be a whole world of magic-users? There were so many possibilities- what if there was someone like him?

What if there was a _cure_ for his touch?

He makes a noise of anticipation before snapping his eyes up to look at the man in front of him. First things first then. He must find out more of the magical world.

"Take me to this… Diagon Alley then."

"As you wish."

The boy surveys the man, quietly, before nodding in satisfaction and turning towards his worn down wardrobe to get dressed. Severus courteously averts his eyes, his gaze darting around the tiny room instead with thinly veiled disgust.

"It's not much, but it's better than what's out there," Harrison murmurs suddenly, and Severus flinches at the proximity of the boy. He had not noticed the smaller male's advance, which was extremely surprising, considering Severus' background in secrecy.

And then he frowns, because the words finally register in his mind and, although it is hidden exceedingly well, there is still an infinite world of bitterness and apathy and _hunger_ and pain and loneliness swirling in those bright green eyes that hold his very soul in place.

The two lock gazes for a silent moment, before Harrison abruptly pushes past the man and strides gracefully to the open door. Severus shakes his to clear his thoughts, and to tamp down the unwilling curiosity and fascination he feels for the Potter boy.

Light footsteps sound down the rickety stairs outside the room, and the man hurries to catch up to the boy.

It seems as if he wasn't the only one to notice the boy's steps though, because orphans of different ages start peering out of the room which Severus had earlier glimpsed as the dining hall. He grips his wand in his pocket tightly, sneering lightly at all the dirty, muggle children. Children, in his experience, were tiny, mannerless midgets who tried his temper again and again. Coupled with the fact that these children were muggles, that made it all the more worse.

To his surprise, the children merely ogle at them on the way out, eyes wide and questioning as they take in his deep black robes and angry frown.

Quite frankly, Severus just really wants to get back to his room in the castle and drink himself into oblivion.

With a sigh, the man follows the boy out of the building, leaving behind the orphans and their warden.

* * *

Harrison's first step into the Wizarding world is an eye-opener.

They enter through the pub, and Severus quietly murmurs a few latin words and waves his wand over the both of them. Harrison feels a chill down his neck, and his eyes narrow as they take in the piece of wood held carelessly in between the professor's fingers.

"What did you do?" he asks the man when they exit out the backdoor and into a dirty alley.

Obsidian eyes find his, and there is a peculiar expression in them, as if sizing the boy up. The moment passes quickly, and Severus turns his attention to the filthy brick wall in front of them. He starts tapping various bricks then, offhandedly responding to the question without looking at Harrison.

"I made sure we won't be noticed."

With a final flourish, the man steps back and watches as the bricks suddenly start shifting into a doorway, revealing a bustling alley beyond.

A tiny, imperceptible smile twitches the man's lips upwards when he turns towards his young companion.

"Welcome to the Wizarding World, Harrison Potter."

* * *

The shopping trip was the very essence of hastiness; the moment Harrison entered Diagon Alley, the professor had hustled him along, a whirlwind of sarcasm and wands and quills and that distinct smell of what Harrison now knows are potion ingredients.

It had irritated Harrison, his fingers twitching ever-so-slightly in his dark gloves when the man had all but dragged him away from the bookstore. How else was Harrison supposed to gather information on this world of magic if this man kept cutting off his time to collect resources?

It was infuriating, but Harrison did not want to show all his cards right now. Severus Snape seemed like a strong caster, and Harrison had no intention of using his own magic here unless needed. It would only draw attention to them, and from the way the man had been acting, it was obvious that attention would be the last thing he wanted.

Curious, but maddening all the same.

The excursion ended abruptly, with a small frown on Harrison's face and a clenched jaw on Severus'. The man had hurried him along, with curt instructions on how to get to the platform station where the Hogwarts Express would take him to the school. Harrison had nodded just as curtly, before closing the orphanage's door on the man's face and striding to his room.

If the professor insisted on keeping Harrison blind, then he would simply have to extend his contacts in school. With a frustrated sigh, the boy sets his new belongings down, before grabbing a book to read.

He'd be damned if he entered school without knowing the basics.

* * *

Harrison had preferred to stay locked up in his room the rest of the summer, reading about the new world he would enter in September, but it seems as if someone else had other plans.

"Harrison…"

The soft, hesitant voice pulls Harrison out of his musings about elemental transfiguration and the basics of spell creation. Green eyes look up from the books scattered around on his bed, and meet grey ones.

"Yes, Arthur?" he asks, masking his fondness with ease. The muggle boy (because now Harrison knows what to call those who aren't special like him) had been skulking around his room for days, seemingly trying to gather up the courage to speak with him.

The other boy bites his lips painfully, and Harrison absently recalls how much strength it would take to break the fragile skin of the boy's lips.

"Are.. are you really leaving the orphanage?" Arthur says in a rush, as if leaving space between the words to breathe would stop them from leaving his tongue altogether. Word, as always, travels ever so quickly in the orphanage, and it seems as if the other children had come to the conclusion that Harrison was being adopted.

After all, working-age men rarely dropped by to merely visit.

 _Are you really leaving me?_ Harrison hears the unspoken question, and looks away.

Harrison takes his time to answer, putting his mask against his heart aside and carefully tasting his reply in his mouth while observing the naked emotions on the other boy's face.

Harrison takes in the other boy's features: the glittering grey eyes, the trembling chapped lips, the pale clammy flesh. He takes this all in, and for a moment, he wonders what it would be like to stay here, with Arthur.

Mornings greeted by the sun and warm kisses, days spent with the other boy's voice and laughter, nights less cold with Arthur's fingers trailing fire all over his body. He has always been lonely, but with those grey, grey eyes so lovingly gazing upon him day after day, the loneliness seemed so far away.

A quick, merciless throb of pain hits his chest, and Harrison can do nothing but close his eyes. Because he knows what he has to do.

When Harrison opens his eyes, the desperation and anger and fear- fear of losing him- shouts at him from Arthur's face.

"That man," he starts, to soften the blow and to stall, "he's a professor."

Arthur's eyes narrow in confusion, but he stays silent and allows Harrison to organize his thoughts.

"He came to visit me, because he said- well, the school he's teaching in is, he-"

He trails off, long fingers rising to tug helplessly at a lock of black hair. Harrison bites his pale lip, before sighing and continuing.

"Apparently, my name was on the school register, because my parents also attended the school. It's a boarding school all the way in Scotland though, but it's a really good school, Arthur," he says softly, before reaching out with his hand hesitantly.

"Seems like you've made your mind already," Arthur snaps out harshly, grey eyes settling on the multitude of books and the brand new trunk filled with clothes propped open against the far wall.

Arthur turns on his heels to exit, but he stops abruptly at the doorway. Over his shoulder, he shoots Harrison a glance.

"I hope you think it's worth it."

Harrison's gloved hand falls, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. He swallows all the platitudes of affection and soft smiles he could've given to the boy. It would only serve to make their separation crueler, and with Arthur's watery grey eyes rushing as far away from him as possible, Harrison thinks that this is already mighty cruel.

Harrison pushes his face into his hands, and if there were tears falling onto the palm of his hands, they were soon wiped away and forgotten.

(Because if he doesn't leave, then he will end up killing Arthur.)

* * *

On the day he leaves, he waits at the gate to see if Arthur will send him off. He waits for almost two hours, but no one comes.

Harrison swallows a lump in his throat, and hardens his heart. He casts his glance at the orphanage one last time, before whispering his parting words to Arthur into the wind and walking away.

"I'll come back for you."


	3. Year I

the start.

 _(They never stood a chance.)_

Year 1

 _"Better be… Slytherin!"_

The hall is dead silent as the hat slides off silky ebony hair and onto the rickety stool. The teachers at the head table and the students in the four house tables are all frozen, staring at the impassive figure of Harrison Potter.

Many in the hall had known or seen photos of Lily Evans and James Potter in their youth, and they had expected that the progeny of the two war heroes would have the standard black mess of hair and bright green eyes framed by glasses on a boyish face. Instead, they watch Harrison Potter, who has long, smooth hair tied at his nape with a face that has decidedly Black traces. There are no glasses perched on his nose, so the entirety of the hall have a clear view of green eyes the shade of the dreaded Avada Kedavra curse. With an arrogantly straight face and bored eyes, there is no doubt that Harrison Potter is every bit of an elegant aristocrat.

As the boy makes his way gracefully towards the table decorated with snakes and silvery green banners, whispers break out. The voices grow louder and louder, until the hall is filled with the indignation and confusion of the entire Hogwarts community.

There is not a single person who claps.

After a minute of staring uncertainly at the unfazed green-eyed boy, Albus Dumbledore clears his throat and waves his hand for silence. After the last vestiges of the noise fades away, he nods gently at the the stony-faced Minerva McGonagall.

The sorting resumes with little incident.

As the last first year is sorted, Dumbledore stands and surveys the entirety of the hall. His eyes meet with another's, and his jaw tightens imperceptibly at the wickedly pleasant gleam in the green eyes. The older wizard tears his gaze away and forces a smile onto his face.

"Welcome, students, both new and old! Now, I know your stomachs are rumbling for food, so I won't say anything more. Let's all dig into our marvelous feast!" he exclaims, and the laughter and gasps of delight from the students softens his face into a true smile.

He sits back down and nods at his teachers, before making eye contact with the man at his right. Severus Snape nods slightly before focusing on the plate before him.

Albus Dumbledore glances once more at Harrison Potter, and it is with a heavy heart that he picks up his fork and eats.

* * *

Severus Snape does not understand.

When he first saw that the blasted Potter boy was sorted into _his_ house, he certainly did not expect for him to earn over a hundred points in his first week.

In fact, from what he had seen in the orphanage, he had been convinced that the boy had been a bully. Both the older and younger orphans had avoided him, averting their eyes from the young Potter in obvious submission.

But the boy had merely done his schoolwork quietly and efficiently, answering the questions asked of him perfectly. As far as Severus could see, Harrison Potter was just a very smart boy.

Even the other professors did not have a single complaint; they had all gushed about how he was a genius and how very charming and well-behaved he was. Out of all the students, none had ever shown this much potential since Dumbledore himself.

It is quite bewildering, but Severus is relieved nothing untoward had happened. Yet. He knows, though, that it is only a matter of time before the fragile peace is broken.

* * *

"Exactly like that! Perfect once again, Mr. Potter! Take 20 points for a wonderful execution of the Levitation charm!"

Harrison nods shortly and murmurs his thanks, eyes sliding away to look at the wand in his hand. He doesn't understand why they are learning about low-level charms such as this. Or why wizards and witches need wands to use magic.

Ever since he was five years old, he had complete control over his magic. He had no need for a stick. Green eyes flash as he takes a quick glance at his classmates.

Was everyone in the wizarding world this weak?

* * *

"Correct, Mr. Potter. Take 10 points. You would all do well to follow Mr. Potter's example and read your textbooks-"

Harrison nods and murmurs his thanks; it seems as if that is all he has been doing lately. That and correctly answer questions.

He places a gloved hand under his chin delicately, and watches the McGonagall professor continue to lecture the others about the importance of reading before demonstrating the spell he had just described. He can see his classmates through the corner of his eyes though, and their faces are all so… boring.

Was everyone in the wizarding world this stupid?

* * *

 _"Look at him, strutting around as if he owns the place."_

 _"Tch, and he's a slimy snake too."_

 _"Look at his eyes, they're filled with evil."_

 _"I bet you anything he's the next dark lord. I mean, how else could've You-Know-Who been defeated by a baby?"_

 _"That makes sense. That must be why he attacked the Potters. Get rid of the competition, y'know."_

Whispers tinged with cruelty follow the silent boy, but Harrison has yet to pay them any mind.

Fists are clenched and teeth are gritted; the Gryffindors believe he is the next dark lord, the Hufflepuffs avoid him like the plague, the Ravenclaws think that he has a great, evil power in him and the Slytherins…

Well, who would turn down the honor and prestige of felling the Wizarding World's Light Hero?

* * *

 _Humans are all the same,_ Harrison muses as he watches the sixth year boy scream silently.

He had decided it was imperative for him to learn all he could about his deadly touch, so instead of mingling with the children he had been reading the dusty, old books in the library after every meal.

Instead of finding a cure though, he had found out about the war that split the Wizarding World, and his supposed 'Savior' role in it. He had learned about his own heritage, his status as the Potter Heir. He had read and read and read, but the Hogwarts Library was _still_ not enough. He would need a way to gather information.

In the muggle world, there were those willing to infiltrate societies and collect intel for a price; was there any like that in the Wizarding World? And were they willing to work for _him_?

Because after reading all this history, Harrison realizes that the war _isn't_ over, and he will definitely be dragged into this whole mess.

After all, Dark Lords didn't just disappear- even Grindelwald, a Dark Lord powerful enough to control hundred of thousands, was still alive in his prison cell in Nurmengard. Voldemort would be back, Harrison felt the certainty of this in his bones. And when he came back, Harrison would be ready.

It was when he was walking towards the dungeons after one of his research sessions that they had attacked.

At first, Harrison did not notice them; he had been lost in his plans of gathering an intelligence base. It was only when the red spell had been hurtling towards his back that he was pulled into awareness.

The odd man, Dumbledore, had said that the spell-work was prohibited outside classrooms, so Harrison had shoved his wand deeper into his pocket and let the curse hit him.

The look of triumph in the two faces had quickly morphed into horror when Harrison sent the curse back to them with his hand.

They were only able to let out a scream before Harrison silenced them. He didn't need anyone to come and investigate.

"H-how?"

The whimpered word catches Harrison's attention, and he squats in front of the boys. _Marcus Flint and Jason Carter_ , he thinks, sixth and seventh year Slytherins. If his memory served correct, then Jason Carter was the current King of Slytherin.

Harrison covers his eyes briefly with his hand. It was too soon for the pieces to start moving; that was why he had been lax and disregarding of all the whispers. After all, he could deal with them later, when he had enough knowledge to make his first move.

With a sigh, he lets his hand fall, the texture of the glove leaving a faint imprint on his face.

Harrison had been extremely content to just immerse himself in books, but apparently others were not.

Opening his eyes wearily, Harrison whispers, "It's a pity," and shudders rack the two helpless bodies. "I thought Slytherins were supposed to stick together."

Sighing, he continues apologetically, "I'm terribly sorry, but you tried to harm me. I don't take threats to my person very well."

Contrasting to the contrite tone of his voice, a soft smile paints the green-eyed boy as he slowly pulls off his gloves. Although this had forced his hand earlier than he had intended, maybe his worries about gathering information were not needed anymore.

After all, he does have two pawns right in front of him now.

"Marcus Flint, Jason Carter," his eyes twinkle, "I think we'll have a lot of fun together."

The two boys scream inaudibly, faces twisted in pain, when Harrison lays his hand on their faces gently.

* * *

When Harrison finally bores of the two boys, he flicks his wrist and levitates the unconscious Slytherins. He takes great care to make them invisible, and floats them behind him as he walks towards the Slytherin common room.

The room turns silent when he enters, and with a flick of his wrist, he removes the invisibility and drops the two bodies in a heap in front of him.

Green eyes twinkle as Harrison regards the pale faces of his Housemates.

"I don't take threats very well," he murmurs, and there is more than one who starts shaking in fear. They have never been so frightened in their lives, and some of them have glimpsed the first war. Eyes dart towards each other, and they all come to the same conclusion; their previous King was defeated. _And now.._

"This is the first and last time; do not test me again," he continues, and there is a collective thump as the Slytherins kneel in front of the gently smiling boy.

 _… now they have a new one._

* * *

It is a subtle change, but Severus Snape prides himself in knowing his Snakes extremely well.

There is a hierarchy in the Slytherin house, and only the strongest, most cunning and most powerful get to be the King. Due to the cutthroat ambition in the Snakes, Kings are only in power for at least half a year; the shortest reign was a Caius, a seventh year who lost his position only after six short weeks.

Severus knows that the current King is Jason Carter, a seventh year with connections and money everywhere. So it is understandable that he blinks rapidly when he sees Harrison Potter move to sit in the very middle of the Slytherin table, the seat designated only for the King.

The seats beside him are empty, but Jason Carter and Marcus Flint are seated across him, heads bowed and figures twitching ever-so-slightly. The rest of the Slytherins are silent and still, food untouched in front of them, as if in waiting.

Harrison Potter spares a glance at his Housemates before reaching out towards the pumpkin juice.

There is a pause, before the rest of the Slytherin house moves and starts eating.

Slowly paling, Severus turns his head away and meets the worried eyes of the headmaster.

"Albus. He, he's-"

Dumbledore closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head.

"It's starting."

* * *

There is a summon that night, calling Harrison Potter to the Headmaster's office immediately. The messenger who delivered it is a blond first year Slytherin, whose voice shakes so hard it is almost unintelligible. The Snakes gathered in the common room all stare pityingly at the boy.

The figure at the seat next to the fireplace sighs, and parts his lips to speak.

The whole common room holds their breath.

"What's your name?"

The boy trembles harder and he bites his bottom lip hard before answering in a whisper.

"D-draco Ma-malfoy, My Lord."

A smile graces pale pink lips, and in a blink of an eye, Harrison is standing in front of the boy. Harrison looks at the boy closely; he had always had been weak to beautiful things, and Harrison thinks that he is hard-pressed to think of a more alluring person than the trembling, frightened boy in front of him. And those grey eyes…

Harrison feels a painful jolt in his chest, and ruthlessly beats down the memory of that muggle boy smiling gently at him. Focus, Harrison, _focus,_ he tells himself.

A shocked gasp escapes the young Malfoy, and tears gather in his tightly screwed eyes. He is prepared for the worst; after all, he had disturbed the King when he had expressly said not to. Draco had seen the bodies of Flint and Carter; they were hideously grotesque before the King had waved his hand and made them whole again.

Shaking in fright, Draco slowly sinks to a kneeling position, his head bowed enough that it touches the cold stone floor.

(Malfoys were taught from birth that they were better than everyone, and that they will get everything they desire. Draco had thought that once he entered Hogwarts, he would be the next King. But he did not factor in Harrison Potter, and he honestly has never been so terrified in his entire life. It is enough to break the ingrained, haughty pureblood mask. After all, what was losing his pride and groveling at the foot of a monster if it meant he would not be subjected to horrors?)

He did not expect a cool, bare hand to gently caress his nape. Grey eyes open in confusion, and he rears his head back to chance a glance at the King. Liquid green pools meet his eyes, and the hand touching his nape travel to stroke his cheek.

"Good _boy_ , Draco. I am not mad that you disturbed me, you had a message from the headmaster after all," Harrison murmurs, and Draco's breathing quickens for a reason other than fear. The fear has entirely disappeared.

 _After all, why would he fear his King? His beautiful, perfect King._

He had read about other dark lords, like Grindewald, who had such charisma that he could move thousands to his bidding through words alone. Historians had labelled him as the most charismatic person in the world.

He doubts that they would still say that after spending a second in his King's presence.

Draco's lips are moving before he could think, and he ends up whispering reverently to the male in front of him. The words he says lights up his King's eyes, and Draco thinks he has never seen something so beautiful in this world.

 _"I live to serve, My Lord."_

Later on, when other Slytherins enter the common room, they find the flushed, admiring faces and trembling, limp bodies of their Housemates. They ask what happened, and they try to answer, but none can describe completely the allure of their King.

* * *

It is almost curfew when Harrison walks back to the dungeon, eyes hooded as he thought about the talk he just had with the headmaster. It merely had been about how he was settling in the wizarding world and in Hogwarts, and if he was having any difficulties.

It had seemed harmless enough, but the calculating glint in the eyes of the venerable wizard had made Harrison clench his fists.

After a thorough investigation done by the men Jason Carter had hired, Harrison finally knew who had left him at the Dursley's. It had been easy enough to deduce exactly _why_ the headmaster had placed him in a muggle household rather than with his godfathers or the friends of his parents; it would also stand to reason why Severus Snape, a man employed by the very same headmaster, had not informed him of his inheritance and his vaults and power as the last Potter. After all, Harrison would be cut off from the wizarding world, helpless and ignorant and poor. And if Harrison was powerless, then who better to teach him the ways of this world than Albus Dumbledore himself?

Unfortunately for the man, Harrison was not a mindless pawn; he was the farthest from it.

It was all the same, no matter where he went. People would always, without fail, try to use him.

Changing his course, Harrison strides away from the entrance to the dungeons and walks past the great hall. Stopping briefly to open the doors, the boy continues on to the grounds, not slowing even when he enters the forest.

After a while, Harrison wanders into a clearing. It is a small one; trees are thickly packed at the edges of it, the grass at the middle of the clearing is worn down. This does not diminish the beauty of it however, and as Harrison looks at the wildflowers swaying gently in the crisp, Autumn wind, he sinks down to the ground.

He takes great care not to touch anything with his bare skin, as he did not wish to cause the death of the beauty around him.

Sighing, he rubs his face wearily with his gloved hand.

"What am I doing here? It's always the same, no matter where I go." he whispers into the silence, and he unconsciously pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

"So, sssso cold," he hisses softly, arms tightening around his body.

An indiscernible emotion bubbles up to the surface, and an angry sound rips itself out of his lips. The wind around the boy picks up, as the agitation in him reaches a peak. Scratches appear in the trunks of the trees around the clearing, and Harrison screws his eyes close tightly.

As quickly as his frustration had risen, it disappears as rapidly. The normally poised and elegant boy slumps, as if in defeat. The loneliness starts to swell up and consume him, and maybe it is because of the painful feeling of being cold, or of the surprise at seeing Draco Malfoy's grey eyes, but Harrison suddenly cannot push away the memory of another pair of eyes, of exactly the same shade but exactly a different feeling.

"Arthur…"

It is almost midnight when the boy rises from his stupor and makes his way back to the castle.

Unnoticed, the lean, disillusioned figure of Severus Snape watches the boy walk away, before pondering the scene before him.

(The clearing, despite Harrison's efforts, was completely devoid of life.)

* * *

When he arrives at the dungeons, a surprise in the form of one Draco Malfoy awaits him.

Black eyebrows climb up higher in his pale forehead, and a peculiar light enters green eyes as they survey the Malfoy heir sleeping in the chair nearest to the door.

It is a charming sight, if Harrison was honest with himself. The carefully-style blonde hair was no more; instead, the golden locks were tousled greatly in sleep. Silk pajamas were slightly rumpled, as if the boy had been twisting and fidgeting on the chair. Normally flushed cheeks were pale now, from the cold.

With an endearing sigh, the boy moves closer to the sleeping one, silently and carefully, before waving a hand and levitating him to his bed. He takes great care not to disturb the boy's sleep, but when the sleep-heavy body comes into contact with the soft bed, grey eyes flicker open.

There is an instant flash of intelligence in them, Harrison observes approvingly. A careless flick of Harrison's finger raises a silencing ward around them.

"M-my Lord," the Malfoy says, voice rough with sleep.

"Were you waiting for me?" Harrison asks softly, eyes trained into grey ones.

A nod confirms his suspicions, and a half-pleased sigh leaves his cold lips. With a wave of his hand, warm sheets wraps Draco tightly. A blush starts to rise on the pale cheeks, bringing light onto the boy's face.

Harrison stares, because from the greenish, murky light of the candles and underwater lake, Draco looks remarkably magical. Vague memories of stories with fairies in them, casting spells and wreaking havoc and love wherever they go rises, unbidden, in his mind. A surge of unexpected chill makes him blink, and he is suddenly the same boy the he was once, the boy that had wept and trembled when he was first held with warmth.

"Draco," Harrison tastes the name in his mouth slowly, stretching the name out with his tongue.

The boy pushes himself up with one elbow, golden strands falling into concerned grey eyes.

"Are you okay? I-if it's alright for me to ask, my lord," he questions hesitatingly.

The entire day comes crashing back, and an imperceptible slump weighs Harrison down. He glances once more at the grey, grey eyes and the softly glowing fair skin, before moving closer sinuously.

Without warning, he flicks his wrist, raising the blankets before climbing into bed next to the quietly startled Malfoy and letting the blankets hug their prone figures.

"I'm tired, Draco, let me stay here," he murmurs, gazing wearily only at grey eyes, and nothing more. If Harrison unfocused his gaze, he could almost see another boy in the Malfoy's place, and replace those respectfully admiring eyes to the hungry, tender pair of the boy he had left behind.

A hurried, eager nod is his reply, and a sad smile graces his lips before he exhales, shifting slightly closer to the boy beside him. His eyes flutter when the other boy's body heat warms his cold, cold- has he always been this cold?- flesh.

Warmth, and bliss, and warmth.

That would not be the last night that Harrison would spend in the young Malfoy's bed.

* * *

"Mr. Potter."

Silence.

"Mr. Potter!"

Harrison slowly raises his eyes from the ground to look at the looming figure of the vexed professor. Without looking around, he can tell that the classroom had gone dead silent, as the rest of the students had stopped whatever they were doing in order to watch the scene unfold before them.

While Snape was notoriously famous for dressing down whomever dared defy him, he was also well known for his extreme bias towards his own house. They had never seen him openly lecture a Slytherin, so it is understandable that half of the students had wide eyes and equally wide mouths open in shock.

"Care to tell me exactly what is fascinating about the floor that you ignore my lecture? Are you saying that you can perfectly make the Draught of a Living Death without my teaching? Well, Mr. Potter?"

Severus' anger at being unable to puzzle out the young Potter had finally reached its pinnacle. He had been filled with confusion for weeks; first, the mystery of the orphanage and the Slytherin hierarchy, and then the enigma of that night.

He had followed the boy that night, when he had stormed out of the castle after talking with Dumbledore. Severus had tailed him in order to make sure no harm had befallen the boy, but the display of wandless magic and the way he had called out that muggle's boy name merely confused him again. And everything in the clearing had turned brown and sickly; just who is Harrison Potter?

The question had kept the man up for several nights, and his crankiness had risen along with his fatigue. He had been holding his temper in check all day, taking deep breaths before he cursed a dozen schoolboys for their rowdiness.

And then Harrison Potter blatantly ignores his lesson. That had been the last straw, and his anger had exploded.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" he snarls, and he can see out of the corner of his eyes that the rest of the class- Gryffindors- have their mouths wide open. The Slytherins, on the other hand, are torn between glaring at him and watching the green-eyed boy worriedly.

Harrison Potter had even turned _his own house_ against him.

The boy in question merely glances at him, before pushing back his chair to stand. He then makes his way to the storage room at the back, and still in utter silence, returns to his chair with various ingredients laden in his arms.

"What exactly are you doing, you idiotic boy?" Severus sneers, and the intensity of the glares directed on him are doubled. (If looks could kill, Severus thinks he'd be six feet under already.)

Harrison sets the ingredients carefully on his table and starts a fire under his cauldron. Without sparing his professor a glance, he replies calmly, albeit a bit sluggishly, "I am demonstrating that I do know the proper way to brew today's potion."

Severus knows that he is in a room full of children, but he cannot stop himself as he thunders his way to the boy, grabbing his wrist and throwing him away from the cauldron. Harrison stumbles closer to the man at the movement, and falls on his knee. Due to the sudden contact, the sleeve of the boy's robes had fallen, leaving his pale arm bare.

Dimly, Severus thinks he's screwed as everything after that happens very fast.

About half a dozen wands are pointed at him a fraction of a second after his fingers make contact with the skin on Harrison's arm. Even with the indignation that his own Slytherins had raised their wands against him, it is not enough to drown out the pain that suddenly lances out from the fingers that are gripping the boy's skin.

It is worse than any crucio under the dark lord's hands, and Severus screams. Gritting his teeth, it takes all the strength he has to stay upright and to lock the rest of the screams in his chest. His vision swims in and out of focus. He tries to unlock his fingers, to move away from the pain, but the white hot fire licking his insides effectively paralyze him in place.

He can barely feel the wand prodding his back or hear his godson's voice demanding for him to _let go of Harrison,_ because his entire focus has shrunken down into the boy in front of him.

Green eyes watch him sorrowfully, before the pain dulls to a throb. Gasping, his fingers fall from the arm and Severus takes several steps back, cradling his hand to his chest. His eyesight focuses, and after a second he takes in the state of the entire classroom.

Hard, closed faces glower at him, and he can see that most of the Slytherins had formed a protective half-circle in front of their King, wands out. Draco is the nearest one, and Severus is close enough that he can see himself reflected in furious grey eyes. The Gryffindors are all in shock, silently frozen in their seats.

All that can be heard in the potions room is his hard, shaky breathing.

For once in his life, Severus does not know what to do now.

Harrison eyes him carefully, before slowly adjusting his gloves and pulling his sleeve down to cover his bare skin.

"Stand down, my ssssnakes," he murmurs, a sibilant hiss rising from his lips. Without hesitation, they move away, although their wands are kept in their hands and their bodies coiled to attack.

Severus watches as his godson, his Draco, growls lowly at him before walking to the boy.

"My Lord," he says reverently, and there is a sharp intake of breath from the Gryffindor side of the room. He extends a hand to the fallen boy and shivers in delight when Harrison takes it. Gently, as if the other boy is made of the finest china, Draco places a hand around Harrison's waist and helps him up.

Green eyes flash as he watches the other Slytherins glare enviously at the arm around his waist. Harrison waits for the young Malfoy to let go of his person, but it seems as if the boy has no intention of stepping away.

Irritation pricks at Harrison; in the daylight, his delusions of Malfoy's beauty seemed quite farfetched.

A small gasp leaves the Malfoy's lips as a sharp sting is felt in his arm. Mixed feelings swirl in the pit of Harrison's belly at the pained exclamation, and he shifts his gaze away from those infinitely grey eyes.

The golden-haired boy lets his hand fall from Harrison's waist and bows, his hand a fist over his heart in salute. _And apology,_ Harrison thinks, as he watches the shaking, clenched fingers.

He nods slowly, and the irritation passes. Draco straightens and gestures towards Severus, and the softness in his eyes harden into rage.

"What shall we do with the traitor?"

Severus feels his heart shatter at the cold words, and his eyes close involuntarily. A Potter has, once again, taken everything from him.

"Nothing. Leave him to me," comes the decisive reply, and Draco bows again. Another pause, before the young Malfoy continues.

"And what of the Gryffindors?"

Severus stiffens, and he can feel the shock waning and the fear and anger growing in the Gryffindor students.

He has a bad feeling about this.

A gentle smile plays on the pink lips, and Harrison fixes the mentioned students with his gaze before replying.

"Obliviate them."

Shark-like grins appear on Slytherin faces as they reply as one.

"Yes, My Lord."

Severus snaps into action at that; he may have laid a hand on a student in anger, but he will not condone this. He reaches into his pocket for his wand, but his fingers grasp air. His eyes widen as he watches Harrison deftly catch his wand, and subsequently turn it against him. Severus' body freezes, and he can do no more than watch helplessly as his Slytherins move quicker than lightening and fires incantation after incantation at the Gryffindors.

It happens so quick that not even a single scream escapes them before the spells hit.

He tries to yell at them to stop, and he tries to break the body bind on him. Both are fruitless.

As the light from the last spell fades, the Gryffindors shake their heads groggily and look around. Severus can feel his mouth moving involuntarily, feel words that are not his own spilling from his tongue.

"You can all be thankful to Mr. Longbottom, who has once proved how idiotic he can be. You do not mix wormwood with beetle's eyes, you foolish child, because it will release an odorless vapor that we have now inhaled. A hundred points from Gryffindor."

The words pause, and he wonders if that is all before his lips start moving again.

"You might feel some side-effects, which include confusion and dizziness, but that is all. Be glad, Mr. Longbottom; you have managed to not poison your peers and thus saved yourself from a lifetime in Azkaban. Class dismissed- it is impossible to work in this environment."

There is a flurry of movement, before students exit the classroom quickly.

Soon, only Slytherins are left.

"Why did you do that?"

The words are his own, and he hurls them angrily at the infuriatingly calm boy.

"Watch it," Draco growls lowly, and Severus' anger is briefly replaced with pain.

Harrison watches the man battle with his emotions. A slight frown graces the boy's face, and he raises a hand to beckon the other students.

"Leave us," he says softly, and there is a brief moment where it seems as if they will disagree. Draco Malfoy, in particular, is close to speaking out, worry and anxiety swirling turbulently in grey eyes.

"Leave. Us," Harrison repeats, this time with less gentleness and more steel. A dash of fear flashes in the faces of his Slytherins, and they are once reminded of the boy who mutilated two upper years easily.

"Yes, My Lord," they reply succinctly, and they exit the room without a glance at the two left behind.

As soon as the door closes behind blonde hair and grey eyes, Harrison stands and walks slowly towards the frozen man. He observes the taller male with hooded eyes, before raising his hand.

This draws a flinch from the professor, and green eyes look away in response.

The clatter of a wand being dropped on a wooden table echoes in the empty potions room, before footsteps make their way towards the door.

Severus looks at his wand on the desk beside him, and experimentally stretches his fingers. (The body bind curse ended the moment gloved fingers dropped his wand.) He quickly picks it up, before raising his head to regard Harrison, who stopped by the door.

His back is facing Severus, and the man clenches his fist tighter around his wand.

"You… no matter if you have graduated and have taken a profession, are a Slytherin, and I am the Slytherin King."

Blinking in confusion, Severus replies acerbically to the small boy, "Thank you for stating the obvious, Mr. Potter. That still doesn't explain why-"

Black eyes widen in realization and the words taper off. Harrison watches the older man over his shoulder quietly. The light from the fires from the cauldron and the candles on the walls flicker and reflect on both green and black eyes as they meet and lock.

"You did it to save me," Severus whispers shallowly, eyes boring into the younger male's.

Harrison regally nods his head and replies, "And the rest of the Slytherins. The Gryffindors, especially the Granger girl and the Weasley, were not going to stay silent about a professor raising his hand against a student, especially the Boy Who Lived, or about a bunch of 'slimy snakes' raising their wands against him."

A short, painful scoff escapes Severus' lips, and he shakily grips his hair. His other arm wraps around his torso, as if to stabilize himself or to keep himself from unraveling, he doesn't know.

Continuing softly, Harrison murmurs, "I understand you might have some difficulty believing that I did this out of some noble goodness of my heart, what with your experience with other Kings and Lords."

Here he pauses to eye Severus' left arm meaningfully. Severus grimaces at the less-than subtle reference to the other Lord he had served.

"Rest assured, I fully expect for you to pay me back somehow."

The soft clack of footsteps fading away are the soundtrack to Severus' disbelieving laughter.

* * *

It is a cold September night, but then again, it is always cold, Harrison thinks deprecatingly, as he waits patiently in the empty common room. The only light is from the crackling fireplace behind his chair, and the shadow and glare fight and dance morbidly on the stone walls.

He had given express instructions to every Slytherin that he was to use the room that night, and so they had to take their frivolities someplace else. It had cleared quite quickly after that.

A small smile paints a macabre light on his beautiful face as he reminisces. It was enjoyable how they were so very afraid of him. Always so eager and fearful. Harrison thinks he could very well get drunk off it.

His musings are interrupted by a small movement in the corner of his eyes, and he raises his head and beckons at the shadow-clad figure. A black-haired boy steps closer into the light, and he nods at him.

 _Orion Lestrange,_ Harrison thinks, placing a name to the boy. He has read that the Lestranges are extremely well-connected, and have long been a line of pureblood tinged with madness.

It shows in how the boy gazes at him with eyes swimming with adoration and cruel insanity. Harrison gives him a couple more years before the fragile control over his psyche snaps.

Lestrange kneels fluidly, and grins, showing his sharp teeth, before speaking.

"I found what you were looking for, My Lord. It was difficult, since the Potters and Evans are considered war heroes, so everything was kept under wraps."

He pauses to take a dramatic breath, and Harrison nearly rolls his eyes.

"Get on with it, Lestrange," he says instead, and the kneeling boy shivers and whimpers in delight at the anger-tinged words. Harrison reevaluates him, and decides he has little less than two years before the madness takes over.

"Of course, My Lord," the boy purrs, "it was quite difficult, since it was under protection, and no one can just get in to Godric's Hollow, but after I pulled a few strings, or more like threatened a bunch of people, I was able to get what you asked."

He then pulls out a battered book from inside his robes, and reverently holds it up to Harrison's inspection. Pale fingers shake ever-so-slightly as the green eyed boy takes it and caresses the cover.

 _Ye Journale of Potter, J._

Lestrange chances a glance upwards, and bites his lip in relish at the raw _hunger_ and possessiveness in those deep, green eyes.

The movement draws Harrison's attention, and he lays his hand instead on Lestrange's cheek. He pauses, patting the skin indulgently as the other boy shudders and pants in pleasure at the contact, before whispering softly into the near-quiet room.

"Did you take care of them?" Harrison asks, fingers raking the skin on Lestrange's face.

"I obliviated all of those I had contact with, and killed the ones I couldn't. My Lord, your secret is safe with me. You can trust me, My Lord," Lestrange murmurs reverently, black eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks as he leans in closer.

Slowly, Harrison's teeth show themselves in a shark-like smile.

"You did good, Lestrange. _Now I have a new assignment for you._ "

The boy leans forward eagerly, and plump, cherubic lips move closer to the kneeling boy.

"Keep an eye on Quirrel, will you? And on the third floor."

"Yes, My Lord."

Harrison nods, and waves his hand in dismissal. Lestrange bows once more, shoots an adoring glance at him and saunters out of the common room.

Alone now, a pleased smile graces Harrison's lips once the matter is taken care of, and he places his hand on the old book.

If there was ever something that could tell him who- or _what-_ he really is, then this would be it.

Cracking it open, with only the fire as his light, Harrison curls up on his chair and starts to read.

* * *

Ever since that night, the green and silver house had been quiet. It seemed as if they had all retreated into the comfort of the dungeons, rarely venturing out of the common room unless it was for class or meals. And even during classes or meals, they were all extremely silent.

Especially Harrison Potter.

The boy was still as well-mannered and behaved as before, but he rarely spoke unless spoken to. In fact, the normally quiet boy had become even more silent; his answers, once filled with detail and complete explanations, had morphed into monosyllabic replies and the bare minimum. During lessons, he would merely look out the window, observing the clouds darken with each passing day bringing them closer to fall. Whenever a teacher called on him, miffed that he seemed to disregard the lesson, the boy would fix those eerie shade of green eyes on them and answer or demonstrate the spell with remarkable perfection. After the professor turned away, green eyes would travel back to the window and glaze over in deep thought.

A few professors had remarked about this during the bi-weekly staff meeting, but as it wasn't harming anyone, they moved on to other topics.

Now, Severus has avoided any interaction with the boy since their altercation. Some would call it cowardice, but he thinks that rushing into confrontation is what Gryffindors do anyways. And Severus Snape is the farthest from a foolish, brash lion.

He tells himself this, whispering it under his breath like a mantra before he closes his eyes to sleep.

He tells himself this, mouthing the words with what he hopes is infallible conviction as he prepares for the day.

He tells himself this, hissing it softly as he drums the fingers on his left hand against the table top, his other hand busy marking failures in today's homework.

He tells himself this, over and over, because he is terrified of the power and ugly beauty of Harrison Potter.

He tells himself this, but he cannot help his eyes from sliding over the Slytherin table until they find a shock of silky, ebony hair and dull, green eyes.

This continues for days, until Halloween finally arrives.

* * *

It is in the middle of the Halloween feast when Quirrel bursts in, shouting about a troll in the dungeons.

Severus immediately seeks out the ebony hair and green eyes, but even though the Slytherin table is the only one that is not filled with panic-driven students, he cannot find him.

Terror fills his chest, and he stands quickly and makes his way to the table. He approaches the three unofficial deputies of the missing Harrison Potter. They are huddled at the middle of the table, with Slytherins on either side of them, facing towards all directions and casually fingering their wands.

They are ready for a battle, Severus realizes, and he barks a short order at them to sit down and get out of his way. He takes notice of steely, narrowed eyes and pale, pinched faces, and he prowls quickly towards the trio.

When he reaches them, he feels the ward before he can see it, and he grits his teeth when recognizes it. He waves his wand and undoes it, shattering the silencing ward.

Three faces turn towards him, and they are all closed off and hard.

A small pinch of regret burns behind his eyes as he remembers exactly why the Slytherins hated him now. Pushing aside his remorse at attacking Harrison, he draws himself up to his full height and glowers.

"Mr. Carter, Mr. Flint, and Mr. Malfoy, can any of you tell me Mr. Potter's whereabouts?"

"Like we'd tell you, traitor-"

The Malfoy's words are cut off as Carter places a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head roughly.

His eyes flash as he mutters hurriedly, "We have no time for this Malfoy."

The youngest one growls, before taking in a deep breath and visibly calming himself. With a much more mellow light in his grey eyes, he turns and walks towards the lower years. Carter and Flint exchanges a nod before Flint strides towards the upper years.

Carter watches the two give out instructions before turning to face the Potions professor.

Severus is shocked at the desperation on his pallid face.

"He's gone," he whispers, fingers twisting worriedly around his tie. "He wasn't in the common room at all today, and we tried to see if he was in his room, but no one had seen him leave or enter it. He wasn't at the library either, or at the hospital wing. Or the owlery, or the courtyard. We've searched most of the floors in the castle before the feast started, but we couldn't find him."

The color had slowly drained out of Severus' face and he finally realized why the whole Slytherin house had been extremely cautious and high-strung.

Harrison Potter had disappeared.

* * *

The next hours are the most terrifying moments of Severus Snape's life.

He had quickly ordered his entire house to keep silent about the disappearance, before conjuring a powerful Notice-Me-Not charm that blanketed the entire table. He told them not to leave the Great Hall, and to barricade it after he left. With pale faces, they had nodded and watched him as he all but ran outside, with Carter and a few other seventh years trailing behind him.

He doesn't know where he's going, but he orders the seventh years to check the ground floor and up. They split up outside the great hall, and he heads down to the dungeons. There is no sight of the troll, which means that that idiot Quirrel was either lying or the troll had already vacated to another place. Which means one of his seventh years will surely meet it.

"Bloody Lords," he yells in frustration, because he suddenly has a very good idea where the missing boy might be, and because he now had the ugly choice between saving his seventh years, and saving Harrison Potter.

"Bloody Lords," he mutters under his breath, again and again like a mantra as he prays for the other professors to get rid of the troll. He ignores the ragged beating of his heart and makes his way to the clearing deep in the woods.

* * *

It is as he thought, and he finds the boy lying on his side in the middle of the clearing.

The anger beats an angry rhythm hard behind his brow and he storms towards the figure. He is just about to grab the boy's wrist again when he stops, remembering the last time he had touched the pale skin. Instead, he clenches his fist around cold Autumn air and backs up a few steps.

"Mr. Potter."

There is no response. Not even a single flinch.

The anger slowly dissipates when a few minutes pass, worry taking its place, and the boy is still motionless. Taking great care to not touch him, Severus kneels down in front of younger male and starts casting standard diagnostic charms.

A gasp leaves his lips as he reads the results.

"No.. no no no no no _no!_ " he exclaims, his voice rising in fear. Harrison Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Boy Who Lived, Defeater of the Dark Lord, is dead.

Severus starts casting all healing spells he knew at the boy, in a desperate attempt to revive him. All spells falter feebly, before vanishing right before it hits the body.

He had _known_ that the boy wasn't himself. He had seen the signs, but he had averted his eyes and gone on with his life. How can Severus call himself a professor?

With a harsh sound tearing itself from his chest, he slumps on the ground and hits it with his clenched fist repeatedly.

"Useless," he near-whispers, "I'm so useless, Lily." Severus covers his eyes with a shaky hand. He continues, "I couldn't even protect your son, Lily. Forgive me."

He lets his hand fall and rest on his lap, before shaking his head and standing. His right hand grips his wand so tightly it turns pale and twitches. He had to give the bad news to the headmaster, and he had no intention of leaving the body before other staff came.

With a lifeless look, he raises his wand and casts once more, concentrating on sending a message.

"Expecto Patronum," he whispers, thinking of the first and only time he and Lily had kissed.

A light emerges from the end of his wand, and after the painfully bright flare recedes, a white doe comes into existence. It paws the ground quietly before stiffening, jumping and facing its body so it is between Severus and Harrison.

Severus stiffens as well, because the doe was behaving like there was a dementor. He whips around, taking in the expanse of the clearing, because even if it might be a long shot, there was still a chance a dementor had gone rogue and attacked a student.

His doe patronus snorts worriedly, nudging his side and baring its teeth at the general direction where Harrison lay. Severus thinks if he grips his wand any tighter, it would cut straight through his flesh. He watches the woods carefully, but the telltale signs of a dementor doesn't manifest. He worries his lip, when the doe growls lightly and lowers its head, eyes flashing and staring straight at the limp figure lying on cold, dead grass.

 _No,_ Severus thinks in horror. The doe wasn't baring its teeth at the direction. In fact, when it first flared to life, it had identified the problem straight away and put itself in its path to protect him.

The doe was baring its teeth at _Harrison_.

"Is it too much to ask for some peace and quiet in this castle?"

Severus feels as if his heart is going to explode from all the stress of today as he watches Harrison sit up and rub his gleaming eyes, very much alive.

* * *

Harrison is at a loss on what to do.

When he reached the end of the journal, he had merely stared at the last page for a good ten minutes before laughing, quietly, bitterly. How extraordinarily ironic is it that the Savior of the Wizarding World, was inherently, _genetically_ _dark_?

The journal had been quite extensive, detailing his father's life after Hogwarts and during the war. It spoke of how he had been ecstatic with his mother, the love of James' short life, even though there were people dying and he could never seem to save any of them. The love pouring from the pages had been quite revolting for Harrison, so those pages were skimmed and flipped readily.

The more he devoured the book, though, the more the words turned darker. The war was at an all time low, and their side had lost quite a number of its forces. Hope was quickly fading, and the pain of being so weak that he couldn't save anyone was slowly working its through their marriage, making James more reclusive and standoffish.

And then the prophecy happened. Harrison glances at it and scoffs in disbelief, before concluding that Voldemort was an utter fool to act on a prophecy. They were, after all, self-fulfilling. Everyone knew that.

After that, the pages were filled with frantic words, panic oozing from each line. The Potters were put under the Fidelus, and Pettigrew was made Secret Keeper. (Harrison files that in his mind, and spares a thought for the godfather he was told he had in Azkaban. If he was inclined, he would demand a trial and a release of the man.)

Harrison had stroked the deep indentations where James had pressed the quill in too hard, before widening his eyes at what was written next.

James had been petrified to lose his child, so he pushed aside his Gryffindor nature and started dabbling with Dark Arts: fighting fire with fire.

There were books from his Black mother, which he smuggled in his home and read by candlelight in the kitchen when Lily was asleep. Books filled with dark spells that would give the caster strength, cunning and power beyond he could achieve on his own. Books with illegal potions that gave the drinker near-invincibility.

Books that had the exact recipe to turn a person into something that would be extremely hard to kill.

It all makes sense now, he had thought. The deaths, the pain he could inflict, the need for human contact, the way he felt stronger after kissing Arthur, the way people seemed to obey him more after he had touched them, as if he had control over them-

or their souls.

Harrison had laughed quietly, fingers turning pale from his death grip on the book, as he read how his father had turned him into a human-dementor hybrid.

* * *

The following days had been fleeting, in Harrison's opinion. He had tuned out the bustling and childish voices of his peers, and withdrawn within himself. The gloves were spelled to stay on, and were lengthened up to his elbows. His robes were tucked in tight and buttoned up to his chin to make sure it would not reveal his bare skin.

He ignored Draco's questioning and hurt glances; ever since he finished the journal, he had not slept in the same bed as the young Malfoy. In fact, even if they spent almost all waking hours together, Harrison never reached out to him, keeping a solid wall of distance between the two.

 _(but)_

It is impossible and dangerous, of course, for him to avoid all contact, but Harrison will still take great care to make sure that his flesh would not touch anyone carelessly again.

There was no cure in the journal; the ritual his father had done was irreversible. He will forever be like this.

 _(he was so so so cold)_

 _(he would never be able to hold someone close forever.)_

And so he spent the days hidden, and the hours ticked relentlessly to Halloween.

Harrison had woken earlier than the rest of his Housemates, remembering too late that classes were suspended for that day. With a sigh, he had gotten up, gotten dressed and exited the common room. He had wandered aimlessly, restlessly, for a few hours, before the sight outside a window he had passed caught his eye.

Now with a purpose, he had stripped out towards the grounds, and into his clearing that he had glimpsed from the window.

Another sigh leaves his lips, and he mournfully glances at the dead grass and trees around before lying down and promptly falling asleep.

And when he woke, it was to a patronus snarling in his face and a terrified Severus Snape.

* * *

"Is it too much to ask for some peace and quiet in this castle?" he mumbles groggily, before running a hand through his disheveled hair.

That is all he is able to say before the patronus charges, and dimly Harrison wonders if this is what it feels like to feel fear.

He screams, and pain streaks throughout his body. He tries to open his eyes, and he wonders when he had closed them in the first place, but the light is too bright. It hurts to look at, so he screws his eyelids tighter and tries to push away the patronus.

When his fingers come into contact with the patronus, he yanks his hand back quickly and rolls away, panting as he ends up on his knees in a crouch. The light is still so very bright, but the distance from the patronus makes it easier for him to open his eyes in slits. He glances quickly at his hand, and makes an angry sound at the back of his throat.

The hand is completely burned black.

He clenches into a fist and raises his head, trying to see through the glare of the doe. He spots Severus behind it, his face still in frozen shock. Another angry sound leaves his mouth before he focuses on the doe that is preparing to charge once again.

"Severus!" he commands icily, "pull yourself together and order this vermin away!"

The man flinches at the sound his name being called roughly, and his wand twitches as the doe lets out another snarl before fading into nothingness. His eyes widen in shock and he tries to conjure another one, but Harrison is quicker.

The boy flicks his wrist, and the wand comes flying towards his outstretched hand. It lands right on the blackened one, and he winces before pocketing the stick. With that done, he sighs and sits down, cradling his injured arm as he watches the other man.

"Sit down Severus," he says, and the older male lets out a soft grunt when his legs give out and deposit him clumsily on the grass.

"H-how? W-why? Y-you were dead! Why did my patronus treat you like a dementor? Why does my body automatically obey your words? What is going on Mr. Potter?!" Severus picks up steam as he goes, and the fear he had felt at first fades in the light of his angry confusion.

Harrison exhales roughly through his nose, and waits until the other male seemed to stop. He couldn't really think of a reason why he should tell the professor anything, since he could simply Obliviate the man. But he couldn't really think of a reason to _not_ tell him, and if Harrison was being honest, there are worse things than having a professor, a Potions Master and, more importantly, an Inner Circle Death Eater as your ally.

"Are you finished? Will you let me explain now?" he sighs in faux weariness, and sighing again once the professor had nodded. Shifting slightly, he tilts his head so that he has an unhindered view to his new spy.

"Well, it seems as if I have the power to take life. According to a very reliable source, I'm a hybrid between a dementor and a human. I also conducted a few experiments before as well. That's also why your patronus reacted the way it do towards me."

There is a pause wherein Severus close his eyes briefly in realization. Harrison feels the first stirrings of amusement in his belly as he watches the man work out that bombshell of information.

"Is that what happened to the Dursleys? Is that why you were in an orphanage?"

Harrison nods in acknowledgement, a bit surprised at the assumption. "Correct. Although I had found out early on that my touch was deadly, and had taken preemptive measures such as gloves, it was too late. They had been too exposed to my skin, and after years and years, the buildup of contact took their lives."

He raises a hand to stop the exclamations from the elder wizard. "I'm not through," he continues, "As for why you immediately and unconsciously obey me, it is because you had touched my bare skin."

"Explain," Severus says tersely.

Harrison watches the man for a while, watches the calculating glint in those back eyes and watches the loose way he held his body, as if ready to dodge a spell. From what Harrison has already observed, Severus is a man who would keep surviving no matter what, taking whatever was thrown at him and hitting back within the same breath. A man born to be a spy, if Harrison is inclined to be dramatic. Snorting softly under his breath, Harrison decides to leave out the journal and share only his experiences. One can never be too careful, after all.

He continues, "After learning that my touch can kill living beings, I had taken care to avoid contact with others. However, sometimes, it couldn't be avoided. If people made to raise a hand on me, or tried to hurt me, they would freeze up and scream as if in the greatest pain imaginable. Yet when I moved to touch others, they would only be hurt if wanted them to, otherwise my touch was extremely pleasant."

He pauses for a bit and a faint smile plays on his lips as he regards the flushed yet horrified face of the taller man. Judging from the red on the otherwise pale face, Severus seemed to remember their first meeting, wherein he had seen a half-naked boy run out of the room that held an equally half-naked Harrison. It wasn't much of a stretch to see where Severus' thought process had taken him.

"It was fascinating. Of course, all the screaming wouldn't do me any good, so I told some of them to be quiet."

Green eyes flash as they search for dark eyes.

"And they would be quiet."

The wind picks up around the two, and in the silence, the noises of the forest are deafening.

"Of course, that's not all I told them to do. I ordered them to do a few other things, and they all completed it without fail."

Harrison lifts a shoulder carelessly, before letting it fall back down in a shrug.

"It is merely a wandless Imperio. That is all there is to it. Simple."

Severus wraps one arm, then another, around his torso and begins to laugh.

Green eyes twinkle in satisfaction, and Harrison carefully files this memory in his mind, unwilling to forget the delirium settling onto Severus' face like a second skin.

"Merely?" the older man repeats after calming his hysteria. "It is not merely, and there is nothing simple about this!"

Harrison cocks his head and stands up, flicking his hair over one shoulder as he starts to walk away. He stops briefly at the edge of the clearing and throws the other's wand at him without a backward glance.

"Don't overthink it, Severus. Some things just are."

Severus can do little but stare at the boy as he is rapidly swallowed by the shadows in the forest.

He makes an scoffing sound, before picking up his wand and muttering, "Who told you to call me Severus, brat?"

He hastens his pace, and he catches the boy at the edge of the forest. He starts making a fuss about him, and how there is a troll somewhere in the castle and how the other Slytherins are out of their minds worried for him.

In his tirade, Severus completely misses the tiny gleam of pleasure in green eyes.

* * *

The moment Harrison Potter steps inside the Great Hall, a collective sigh of relief leaves the pale, worried lips of the Slytherins.

He is immediately accosted by his three generals, and Severus fades quietly into the background as he watches Harrison effectively deflects their distraught queries and greedy hands by asking a few choice questions about the troll.

Severus learns that there was indeed a troll, and that there was a child who was mutilated beyond magical healing.

Apparently, Ron Weasley- a loud-mouthed Gryffindor, he recalls- had gone looking for it, boasting of his skills and bravery. Hermione Granger had overheard him and followed in order to bring him back, and it was only through her quick thinking that the troll hadn't taken life that night. Unfortunately, before they could stun the beast, the troll had grabbed hold of the girl's leg and broken it in such a way that she could never walk again. Her parents were supposedly pulling her out of Hogwarts, and it is only through Dumbledore's careful words that they are not suing.

(Severus isn't surprised at the amount of knowledge the three snakes had; after all, Slytherins are, first and foremost, the most cunning and the best at gathering information, even if their King was gone.)

Harrison mulls this over, clarifying once more that Professor Quirrel was the one to notify everyone of the troll's presence, before nodding lightly. He beckons at the rest of the waiting, silent Slytherins and they follow him to the dungeons. Severus watches over them until every last one is inside, before making his way to his quarters to drink himself into a stupor.

* * *

The next day, Quirrel cannot be found, and Dumbledore murmurs to Severus over breakfast that the stone is gone.

Severus blanches and chokes on his eggs. Dumbledore happily, and quite roughly, pats his back.

From the Slytherin table, green eyes sweep once, twice, three times over the professor's table, before settling on the empty chair beside Severus.

* * *

"My Lord, he's gone. And so are the enchantments on the third floor," Lestrange whispers into Harrison's ear at dinner.

Harrison mulls this over, and chews slowly, eyes fixed on Quirrel's seat on the head table, pointedly ignoring the other Slytherins who kept glancing at the two.

Swallowing, he tilts his head to murmur back, "And what of the thing that was being guarded?"

Lestrange lowers his eyes and leans closer, fighting off a frown.

"From what I got from the half-giant, it seems as if it was a stone made by the alchemist Nicholas Flamel," he says quietly, voice tight.

A flicker of interest flashes through Harrison's face, and Lestrange bites his lip in anticipation. Few things these days could procure a delightful attentiveness in their Lord, and he almost smiles at the thought that _he_ is the one responsible for bringing a spark to those deep, green eyes.

A sigh snaps out and Harrison nods curtly, before turning to speak with the Malfoy beside him. Lestrange bows and quickly exits the Great Hall, knowing a dismissal when he sees one.

* * *

By the time the clamor and excitement of Halloween dies down, the snow had already started to fall gently onto the Hogwarts grounds. They get a new defense professor, one that is infinitely more capable and experienced than Professor Quirrel, and his disappearance slowly becomes insignificant in the flurry of Christmas holidays and exams.

On a quiet day approaching the break, Harrison is approached by the seventh year prefect in the library about his arrangements for the holidays.

Harrison mulls over the idea of returning to the orphanage for Christmas, and he regards the young Malfoy next to him, who is doing a very good job of looking extremely absorbed with the books around him.

(The collective consensus of the Slytherins was to keep a close eye on their King, lest he disappear again. This only served to irk him, because if he really wanted to vanish and not be found, it would be ever-so-easy.)

"What do you think, Draco?" he murmurs, and the blonde gives a small start at being addressed. Twitchy little thing, Harrison absently thinks as he watches the other boy fidget over the Transfiguration essay in front of him, a soft blush on his cheeks.

Ever since he stopped sleeping in the same bed as him, the atmosphere between the two had always been tinged with a slight awkwardness. Harrison could deduce well enough that the Malfoy boy thought he had somehow committed a mistake, and blamed himself daily.

Harrison always turned his head at that; no matter how much he wanted to clear the petty misunderstanding, he simply couldn't trust the boy enough with his dementor trump card. He pushes away the tiny voice at the back of his mind snidely saying that he merely didn't want to turn the adoring eyes of Malfoy into one tinged with constant fear of his Lord _._

"M-my Lord, wouldn't you want to return to the Potter Manor?" Draco asks hesitatingly, chewing lightly at the end of his quill.

An eyebrow raises at that, and Harrison leans in closer.

"Potter Manor?" he questions in reply. He continues, voice soft and cold, "I've been living in a muggle orphanage all this time, Draco."

Grey eyes widen, and the seventh year gasps in the background. The Malfoy heir immediately goes into a rant about how their precious Lord should not be forced to stay in the company of such filth, and how his father will make everything better and get him out of there and into his heritage.

A small smile plays on Harrison's lips at Draco's passionate defense, and he delicately rests his chin on his hand before nodding to the seventh year and telling him to sign him up for the list of those staying in the castle for break.

* * *

Soon Christmas comes, and the castle is almost empty; the only ones left are the professors, and a handful of students.

Harrison spends the days reading in the library, and the nights exploring. There is an cold uneasiness in his bones, and he is in this precise mood when he discovers the Mirror.

"Erised… Desire?" he says into the bare room, tilting his head and peering into the glass.

His reflection peers back at him for a moment, before rippling and morphing into another him-

 _a lankier, less pale version with glasses-covered emerald orbs and a goofy, carefree grin, twirling a beautiful flower in his hands; there are three people with the other him, a redheaded, smiling woman and a tall, messy-haired man laughing uproariously, and a boy with grey, grey eyes beside him_

-and Harrison blinks at the image. He strides closer and stretches out a hand to trace the him that is holding life in his hands. The coolness of the glass reaches out to him, icy fingers drifting past already cold hands, and Harrison presses closer and closer to the mirror, as if it would open and swallow his freezing pale flesh.

 _(cold, so so cold)_

He doesn't know how long he stands there, but it is only when a hand brushes his shoulder does he jerk back out of his trance.

"Harrison?"

 _(cold)_

The boy blinks slowly, as if coming out of a fog and shifts his gaze onto the questioning eyes of Severus Snape.

"What are you doing here, Professor?" he asks slowly, hearing the words coming out of his mouth as if from a great distance.

The taller man scowls briefly before straightening. He scolds, "It is against school regulations to wander around after curfew."

He wilts a moment later under Harrison's fixed gaze. The older male casts his eyes around the room, before landing on the mirror behind the boy.

 _Lily waves back at him._

Knees suddenly growing weak, he clenches his fist around his robes and takes a shaky deep breath before glancing at Harrison.

The boy is watching him with a mixture of pity and mild curiosity, and Severus finds himself lost in those green eyes so like, and at the same time, quite unlike, Lily's.

"Severus?"

"Yes, Harrison?"

"What do you see?"

Severus searches the green eyes once more, and gestures at Harrison to follow him. They silently troop back to the dungeons, but instead of entering the common room, Severus makes a left and leads the boy inside a room that could only be the professor's quarters.

Harrison carefully files the room into his head, noting all the potions stored on one wall and all the books on the other, before turning to look at the older male.

Severus had walked straight to the tiny kitchen in the corner and prepared two mugs of warm tea. He then gestures toward the chairs by the fire, and one mug is handed to small, pale fingers.

There is an odd moment of silence, one that is filled with half-drawn breaths and tense sips of the drink.

"I see your mother, Harrison. I see Lily Evans."

The green eyes are solemn as they watch the older, weary man in front of him, and Harrison blinks at this information. In an uncalculated, oddly gryffindor-like outburst, he replies, "I see her too."

The man in front of him bows his head, and Harrison gives him a moment of mourning of lost desires and painful nostalgia before standing and setting aside his mug. The steps he takes to lessen the space between them are slow, and languid.

Severus does not move.

A smile graces the beautiful face- because Severus has been careful recently, always shifting away to prevent any contact between their skins- and the boy places his hand on the bowed head.

"You love my mother, and I long for her. This war took her from us. Help me win it."

The man's head snaps up at that, and the hand caressing his hair falls. Severus' eyes narrow, and he straightens up in his chair.

"There is no war. The war ended when your mother died and you survived," he bites out harshly, shoving Harrison away in the only way he knew how to with people- with unpleasantly acidic words.

Harrison takes no note of his tone, and merely leans in closer until there is only a few inches between their faces. This close, and Severus drowns in the green. This close, and Severus can almost imagine that this is Lily, and not that blasted Potter's son.

"You know that that's not true. You know that there's another war brewing- that it's almost upon us. Why don't you let go of your bitterness and regret, and help me avenge the woman we both lost."

The words are even more potent coupled with the proximity of the green eyes, and Severus can feel himself shaking at the amount of power oozing around him.

"Help me, Severus," Harrison murmurs once more, and the last bit of resistance in the man fades into pleasant subservience.

Harrison leans back to watch the fight leaves the black eyes, and he hums lightly in delight. Taking a few steps back, he reclines on his seat and crosses his legs smoothly, before tiling his head and smiling.

"Now, why don't you tell me about Quirrel and the Philosopher's Stone?"

Severus swallows roughly, and words spill from his lips without his accord, words Dumbledore himself had said, words that he repeats now in front of the quietly listening boy. Words that told of death, of Dumbledore's speculations of Quirrel working for the Dark Lord, of the stone's power to bring back even a spirit to life, and of the rapidly darkening mark on his left arm.

* * *

The rest of the Christmas holidays are spent holed up in the Slytherin dorms, pouring over the multitude of letters his Slytherins had sent him through owl post. He had told them to keep an eye and an ear out, but the letters had been completely meaningless. No matter how many times he had re-read them, the words were merely words, with no hidden meaning.

Green eyes pour over Draco's letter, which only contained a short note that said the Malfoy Patriarch had finished the papers. He would be completely emancipated, and could move to the Potter Manor when the school year ends.

Harrison thinks back to that night when Severus became his, and to the words exchanged between them. If the Dark Lord has indeed risen again, then his Slytherins would be the first to know, through the ties to the Dark that their families had held onto fast over the years.

Harrison scowls lightly, a small twinge of pain settling below his breastbone, and sets them all on fire. The orange red fire licks his fingers, but all Harrison can feel is

 _cold._

It seems as if his snakes have some training to do.

* * *

On the night feast where the students return to Hogwarts, the Slytherin King is not at the green and silver table. There is a tension slithering between each and every student of the snake house, and Severus watches it all from his perch on the head table.

Tonight would be the night that would decide the fate of his house, and he doesn't know whether to be glad or worried that it all lies in the hands of an eleven year old boy.

Sighing, he makes his way to the seventh year prefects, and relies to them Harrison's orders: to make sure that all Slytherins wait in the common room after dinner. They both pale, and nod, before sitting down and conversing in low tones.

* * *

The moment the door to the common room slides close, the lights all flicker off, and all the Slytherins drop to the floor, shrieking horrifically.

The pain is extraordinary. By the first few minutes, most had already screamed their throats bloody, and could only rasp in agony.

When it finally stops, footsteps can be heard walking around the room, and a few try to glance up, only to cry out when their heads are kicked back down.

"Down, dogs. Worthless servants like yourselves should stay where you belong, on the ground groveling for mercy."

There is nothing scarier to the Slytherins in that moment.

"Dogs like you, who seem to have forgotten exactly who is your true master, need a little training," the small boy continues, tone light as if conversing about the weather outside the dungeons.

A third year girl whimpers pitifully, and there is a collective tense silence as Harrison turns slowly and swoops down vengefully on her. His bare hand reaches out to grab her by her hair, causing the third year to sob mightily in panic and agony.

Irritation swells up in the green-eyed boy at the sound, and draws her face closer.

"What is your name, girl?" he murmurs gently, tone at odds with the painful grip of his hand.

Sniveling, she stutters pathetically, "Da-danielle Mac… Macnair, My Lord."

Green eyes burn frighteningly, and the room temperature drops a few degrees. More than one Slytherin starts to turn blue from the icy air.

"Macnair," he hisses, "your father is Walden Macnair, I presume? He is a Death Eater, is he not? A somewhat trusted one, if my sources are right."

Harrison doesn't wait for the girl to answer, because at this point she is merely a blubbering, pale mess.

"Tell me, why didn't you report to me about Voldemort's return? Surely your father must have been feeling a little under the weather with his dark mark pulsating so frequently, hm?" he asks, deceptively kind, before releasing his death grip on the girl and allowing her to drop heavily.

The sound her head makes as it hits the stone cold floor heavily is a gruesome one.

Turning on the spot, bright eyes survey the downed snakes, and lock gazes with remorseful grey ones. Fury and betrayal stings deep in his chest, and Harrison growls lightly and looks away. He continues to survey the room and finally zeroes in on a shivering sixth year. A pleasant fanged smile spreads plush lips, and Harrison spreads his arms out wide.

"Marcus, my old friend! How very rude of me to keep you like that. Come, stand, my friend!" he exclaims joyfully, a hint of impatience in his words.

Flint shudders terribly and curls more in himself, and Harrison slowly lowers his hands to his side. There is a frigid fire burning in his belly, one fueled by the disobedience. He snaps.

"I SAID STAND, YOU WORTHLESS MAGGOT!" he shouts, and Flint is jerked up like a marionette. Harrison glares for another moment at the boy, before whipping around and stalking over to sit in his chair. In a fluid motion, he crosses his legs and leans forward, elbows supported by his knee and chin supported by his hands.

"It seems to me," he says silkily, "that you all need to be reminded who your true Lord is. Now, I am a merciful one; you can hardly be faulted for being uncertain in the face of Voldemort's return."

His words then take a decidedly sharper turn. Leaning back, he continues, "However, like all transgressions, there has to be consequences. After all, how will you learn?"

A truly delighted smile lifts the corners of his mouth, and he stretches his arm to gesture grandly.

"Never fear, my dear sssnakes," he murmurs, "the pain is almost over."

Pursing his lips, Harrison closes his eyes and exhales softly. When green eyes open to observe his fallen Slytherins, they are a more mellow light.

 _It is always calm before the storm_.

Those close enough to see the change start hyperventilating in fear.

Harrison cocks a head to the side, and the prone bodies on the ground are uprighted and moved to the side violently. All except for Flint and the Macnair girl.

"Now, Marcus, this will mark the second time you directly went against me. You and Carter, but he will get his own punishment soon enough. But you- after all the trouble I went to training you to be faithful… Marcus, I am very disappointed in you. Very, very disappointed," he says lowly, dangerously.

"However, I know a way for you to repent."

Pausing, he watches the slow, unwanted realization dawn on the two students in the center of the room. A pink tongue lashes out to lick deliciously at plump lips, and Harrison feels very inebriated off the fear and desperation permeating the air.

"Kill her, Flint, and I will spare your worthless life."

Macnair protests, and shakily tries to stand, desperately groping for her wand. Her fingers meet cold air in her pocket, and Harrison chuckles lightly as he catches her wand, turning it against her and freezing the girl in place yet again.

There is another storm brewing in Flint's eyes, with winds and typhoons and broken ships drowning in the pure, unadulterated fear of Harrison Potter. Harrison drinks it all in eagerly, feeling the waves of hopelessness crash relentlessly against his cool skin. He waits, patiently, and with those quick green eyes, catches the exact moment Flint decides his life is worth more than the Macnair's.

"Avada Kedavra," he whispers tonelessly, and green

- _the same shade as furiously frightening eyes_ -

light washes over the dark room, illuminating the wickedly amused expression on Harrison's face.

The thump of the lifeless body echoes in the Slytherin common room, and for a moment that is the only sound.

But then Harrison starts laughing- loud, genuine laughter- and Flint drops to his knees and clutches his head, staring at the body blankly.

Harrison chuckles once more before controlling himself and undoing the body binds on the Slytherins before waving a hand at them in dismissal.

"Remember this, my ssssnakesss. You are mine; your lives, your bodies, your… _souls_ are all mine, and I would hate it if you disobeyed me again."

The newly unbound Slytherins falls, one by one, onto their unsteady knees and shaking fists are clenched over their hearts in a fearful proclamation of loyalty.

"Yes, My Lord," they intone as one.

* * *

That night is a long one, and Harrison stays by the slowly dying fire in the common room. He had sent all the snakes back to their rooms, and the quiet in the room is a great change from the previous hour.

It unsettles him, and a soft sound of anger rips itself out of his throat. He cards his fingers through his hair and clenches his jaw, emerald eyes glaring at the floor in front of him.

Macnair is still lying face down on the stone cold floor, body prone as it is without life.

Harrison thinks back to his discipline of the Slytherins, and grey eyes, unwanted and unbidden rise up in the forefront of his memories. The pain and regret in them threaten to choke him, and with a huff, Harrison starts to pace. To be a Lord, and to win this upcoming war- and not only survive it- he must push away the boy that he was before: the boy who longed for warmth and broke with every blood shed on his deadly fingers. He had to be strong, unshakable in the face of his own cruelty.

Logically speaking, he knew he couldn't afford to form an attachment to the blonde. But if he was being honest with himself, the anger and- dare he say it?- _remorse_ swimming in his belly whenever he thought of those grey eyes clenched tightly in pain spoke volumes.

"My Lord?"

Harrison stiffens at the voice, turning robotically to look at the boy currently filling his thoughts.

"Malfoy," he says simply, and feels an odd mixture of regret and satisfaction when the other boy flinches at the aloofness.

The boy bites his lip, dithering for a moment, before crossing the distance slowly. Harrison watches him indifferently, but widens his eyes at the Malfoy's gesture.

The blonde had kneeled in front of him, and tilted his head slightly down, offering his nape in complete submission.

"Forgive me, My Lord. The mail and all outside communication in the Malfoy manor was being observed. I couldn't send word to you about His rise," the boy says in one breath, voice trembling slightly in exhaustion and fear.

Harrison moves strikingly, jerking the boy's chin up and staring into grey eyes. He pries into the boy's mind, furiously searching for a hint of a lie. There is none.

A sudden wave of relief and shame crashes against Harrison, and he closes his eyes briefly to digest the kneeling boy's words.

"Draco," he says slowly, much like that night when he first took comfort from the blonde. Green eyes watch the boy in front of him, his fair skin illuminated by dying embers in the fireplace. Harrison thinks it would be a mistake to trust the boy again, but then again, Harrison had always gotten what he had wanted.

And right now, he wanted this Arthur look-a-like, this Draco Malfoy that looked especially delicious in his submission, neck bared and light eyelashes fluttering on pale cheeks.

"If you ever betray me again, I'll kill you myself, Draco," he breathes, and then he kneels down in front of the frantically nodding Malfoy and buries his face in the porcelain skin of his neck, inhaling deeply.

Draco trembles lightly, whether in fear or pleasure, Harrison knows not. But then the Malfoy heir wraps tentative hands around his body, and a sigh of pure satisfaction escapes Harrison.

Warmth, and bliss, and warmth, _at last._

* * *

The next day, during breakfast, Aurors burst in and arrest Marcus Flint for the murder of Danielle Macnair and the use of an Unforgivable Curse. He is sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban, and the entire Slytherin table do not even spare a glance at their hysterical former Housemate being escorted away.

Instead, they watch their food silently, appetites gone as Harrison hums a liltingly joyful tune.

 _(Yes, Harrison never did take offenses to his person very well.)_

The rest of the year is quiet, with the occasional report from Death Eater's children. Harrison passes the time in reserved silence, eyes flashing as he plots, Draco Malfoy never far from his side.

After all, he has no intention of losing this war.


	4. Interlude II

the start.

 _(s_ _tand and puff your chest out like you never lost a war_ _)_

Harrison steps off the Hogwarts Express, one hand casually twirling his wand and the other shoved deep in his muggle jean's pocket. Draco Malfoy is by his side, a haughty expression on his face as he watches some Gryffindor child loudly reunite with his parents. They both make their way to a nearby bench, faces aloof and decidedly arrogant as they converse in low, casual tones.

To any passerby, it would seem as if the duo have nothing to worry about except for a handful of petty summer schoolwork; their masks are perfect enough to hide the multitude of thoughts running rampant in each other's head.

But they are anything but calm, for they are both waiting for the same person- Lucius Malfoy.

The Malfoy Patriarch, however unwillingly, had finally finished all the paperwork needed in order to fully emancipate the young Potter.

A small, wicked smile spreads his lips, and Harrison feels delight run throughout his body as he finally spies a sneering, aristocratic blond subtly pushing his way towards them. The man comes to a stop with a politely disinterested smile on his face, but quick green eyes watch the cruel, cunning tinge in the man's orbs.

"Lord Potter-Black, it is a delight to finally make your acquaintance," Lord Malfoy says softly, mindful of their surroundings. With a wave of his cane, Harrison feels the man's magic surge forth and deposit something directly into his luggage- the Potter's and Black's statement of accounts, political and social papers, and everything else needed for the young Harrison to survive as the newly instated Lord of a Noble House and an heir to another.

Harrison's smile turns into a full-blown grin, and when the Potter Lord signet unobtrusively materializes on his right index finger, and the Black Heir ring on his left thumb, he is hard-pressed to keep his savage laughter in. The elder Malfoy turns to speak with his son, looking all for the world a father. His intelligent eyes never stray from Harrison's calm face though, searching and searching for a chink in his perfect mask.

The boy knows that no matter how much a father loves his progeny, he would never do anything that would go directly against his beliefs. In this case, Harrison knows that no matter how much Draco had whined and stomped his pretty little feet, there was no possible chance that the Malfoy Lord would willingly help the Dark Lord's sworn enemy to gain more power.

Unless, of course, the Dark Lord himself ordered it.

 _Oh yes_ , Harrison is quite well-versed with this game of cat and mouse. And Harrison quite agrees with the Dark Lord in this aspect; it would be extremely boring to fight against a helpless party.

They part ways after that, and Harrison pushes his magic into the Black ring, forcing it to transport him to the ancestral home he knows he owns in London. He appears in the threshold, to the surprised shouting of an infuriating portrait. The caption underneath says that it is a Walburga Black, and from what Harrison can remember, the mother of his imprisoned godfather.

Harrison clenches his jaw at the noise, before incinerating it with a careless flick of his wrist. He doubts his godfather could fault him for cleaning up the dirt in their house. The shouts of _mudblood_ , _filth of the earth_ and _blood traitor_ turns to screams of agony, and an indifferent smile lights up the boy's face.

After the last vestiges of the portrait is appropriately turned to ashes, the boy makes his way to the library, unerringly maneuvering through all the well-placed jinxes and curses cast on the house to stop intruders. When the most treasured and the most _dark_ books are within reach, Harrison allows himself to smile sharply before gathering them into his arms and transporting himself to the Potter Manor with his ring.

A small battalion of house elves greet him by the foyer, with tears of subservience and loyalty streaming down their ugly faces. Harrison nods genially at their words of welcome and sends them on their way to prepare his chambers. One leads him to a study room, which he is told by the sniveling creature belonged to his father.

With a sharp word of dismissal, Harrison is alone in the room where his father had studied when he was a boy, unaware of his own miserable fate.

He lets the books fall and float around him, before directing them into a neat stack on a table. The documents the Malfoy elder had smuggled to him materialize on the desk, and finally, finally, Harrison lets his mask fall and laughs viciously, eyes glinting in the empty room.

 _Your move, Voldemort._

* * *

The attack comes after a week.

He had been spending the days quietly in his study, reading up on the books he had gathered from the Black library, strengthening himself and the manor with rituals and various spells he came across.

The boy had expected something like this after he had fully assumed his role as the Potter Lord; he just did not expect Voldemort to attack in an extremely bold manner.

Harrison's eyes turn cold as he glares at the Daily Prophet's headline, fingers gripping the paper tightly as he reads about the brutal way a muggle institution had been attacked the former night. The anger swells, reaching its peak as it mutilates his surroundings, breaking the glass and deeply scarring the wood and walls of the Potter dining room.

He can hear the frantic squeaking of the enslaved house elves, all trying fruitlessly to soothe him before the wards of the manor, which are keyed to his magical signature, falters in his anger.

Breathing deeply, he calls forth what little calm he has, and the magic around him stabilizes. Instead, he channels his anger into hatred, and the air chills to a bitter cold.

Blazingly cold green eyes glance once more at the front page photograph of St. Brutus' Orphanage for the Criminally Insane Children splayed in all its dilapidated glory, a Dark Mark mockingly floating above its ruined building.

Without warning, Harrison turns on the spot, striding to the nearest fireplace. The house elves are all silent, unwilling to draw their master's ire. Over the course of Harrison's move to the Potter manor, more than half of their ranks have already suffered under the boy's temperamental behavior. The pain they were placed under was something they have never felt in their lives before, and frankly, the cold, cruel glint in those green eyes is scarier than the threat of clothes.

Harrison grabs a handful of the powder, muttering his destination before disappearing in green flames.

He arrives at the Ministry of Magic, where he is immediately accosted by the Ministry workers. It is his first official trip outside Hogwarts and his manor as a Lord and Heir, and obviously this gives the men and women some sort of misguided cause to obstruct his progress. His temper flares once more, and something about the flash of anger on his face makes the fawning, calculating men and women fade from his path.

He strides, unhindered, towards the Minister's office.

When he bursts in the room, he is met with distressed men and women talking loudly over each other with hands gesturing angrily. They all stop their actions and barbed words to stare at him in surprise, and the sudden silence suits him just fine.

Harrison reaches out with his magic and pushes away those blocking his way, gagging them for good measure when they snap out of their shock and start to exclaim in loud voices that claw at his ears like gravel.

He only has eyes for the Minister, a potbellied man with sweat and fear rolling off him in waves.

"Have you arrested those responsible for the attack?" he throws the words at him with accusation, and the Minister frantically tries to laugh off the boy's anger.

"Ha-harrison P-potter, my boy! H-how, well, we haven't- you're, it's nice to meet you at last!" the Minister says chaotically, hands flapping uselessly at his side before rushing forward to grab Harrison's gloved hands in a handshake.

Green eyes narrow, and Harrison bats the man's clammy fingers away.

"Are you saying, Minister, that you have not yet found and caught those men who attacked the orphanage?"

Each word is clearly enunciated, holding back a torrent of cold anger and hatred. The men and women in the office all gasp, because the atmosphere turns oppressively frigid and there is suddenly not enough oxygen to breathe in. The Minister gets the brunt of Harrison's anger, and he clutches desperately at his throat in confusion and unadulterated fear.

A sound of disgust leaves Harrison's throat as he takes in the pathetic, sniveling man in front of him before releasing him.

"Fine then, take me to the orphanage," he commands icily, with the first stirrings of fear starting to grip his heart. Now that he has started to calm, and the anger is slowly simmering down, dread starts to swirl in the forefront of his thoughts.

The Minister shakily starts giving instructions, and within a few minutes, a small group of wizards, consisting of Aurors and the Minister and Harrison himself, appears near the orphanage.

Harrison's breaths start coming out in gasps, when he sees the state of the building. There are scorch marks along the dirty stone path, and there are cracks, both small ones and large, yawning holes with jagged corners, decorating the orphanage. He rushes inside without a care, ignoring the shouts of the elder wizards behind him.

He knows that this could be a trap, that there could be Death Eaters waiting to hurt him inside, or that the building might collapse the moment he enters. He finds none of these.

Instead, he sees bodies, children who shared their days and nights with him and nurses who spooned a little extra on his plate every meal time. He sees those who had smiled at him and bombarded him with questions on his first day, and those who had whined and asked him to play with them.

He can feel his body shaking now- _so, so cold-_ , as his green eyes agitatedly land on face after face. He walks further in the orphanage, and everywhere he turns there is death. There is a sinking feeling now in his chest, and he knows that there is no other ending to this macabre haunted house.

Even so, when he pushes open slowly the door to the room that belonged to him back in another life, the sight of those grey eyes staring lifelessly at him causes him to grasp the doorway tightly to stay upright. Vaguely, he can hear the other wizards climbing up the stairs and calling worriedly out to him, but Harrison's entire world has shrunken down to the two of them.

There is barely any feeling in his legs now, but he forces himself to take one step, and another. After a few steps, his legs give way and his knees hit the ground hard, but all that registers in his brain is coldness. _(He fears that he may never be warm again.)_ Trembling, he falls forward on his hands and starts to crawl, soft noises of disbelief leaving his lips.

"No," he whispers, softly at first, before gathering the boy in his arms gently. He casts all the diagnostic spells he knows, shaking his head in doubt when they all say the same thing. His fingers scramble up to feel for a pulse, and he lowers his head to listen for a heartbeat.

"No," he repeats, with anger and fear beating strong in his heart. "No, you can't do this to me, no, no, no," he whimpers, tears starting to blur his vision of Arthur in his arms. He rubs the back of his hand roughly against his eyes to wipe the tears away, to clear his head so he can _think_.

Harrison knows that he is special, that his magic is far more powerful than others. He knows that he houses countless of souls in his body, taken from the people whose skin he has touched.

He tries to harness those now, desperately trying to push life back into the empty body.

He racks his brains for a spell, a potion, _anything,_ to bring him back.

But no matter how much pure power he breathes into the _cold, so cold_ , rigid body, no matter how many souls he tries to drive inside him, there is no more warmth in those eyes, no more gentleness in those fingers. There is no more pulse, no more heartbeat, no more _Arthur_.

Harrison pulls the body onto his lap as his tears start to fall faster, fingers shaking as he traces the soft skin of Arthur's face. He starts to rock back and forth, a lump growing in his throat and sharp pain thudding deep in his chest, and he buries his head in Arthur's neck and hugs him so tightly that there is almost no more space in between them.

A flicker of their last moments together, of Harrison turning him away, and of Arthur's tears as he ran, flashes behind his closed eyes, and it is that thought that sends him over the edge. If only, if only, _if only_ …

The wizards are now upon them, and they stand in confusion and worry as they watch Harrison Potter, Lord of the Noble House Potter and Heir to the Noble and Ancient House Black, weep hysterically with a dead muggle boy in his arms.

* * *

Harrison insists on sponsoring the memorial for the dead orphans and workers in the orphanage. The Minister sycophantically attempts to gain Harrison's favor by taking care of all the details, pompously giving out interviews and democratically vowing to punish those who had harmed the muggles.

Harrison could care less.

The day of the memorial is a gloomy one, as if the heavens themselves are grieving with him. Harrison is mildly pleased, because if the sun was out and shining merrily, he would've hurt someone.

There are barely any attendees, because Harrison had forbidden any reporters or those who would half-heartedly send off the dead muggles. There is only him, and the Minister, who had briefly shown up with a couple of Aurors to give him condolences before escaping, and a few other well-meaning witches and wizards who lived in the area. Soon, the clouds give way to rain, and then, with the gentle pats and soft words, he is alone.

Harrison does not know how long he stays there, with the rain licking its way down his face and the cold seeping its fingers down his nape. Green eyes stare unseeingly at the grave of Arthur Smith, and a bitter laugh escapes him. He didn't even know Arthur's last name until he had been signing the papers that allowed the muggles to be buried in the orphanage's plot of land, which he had bought after the attack.

He knew so little about the boy, but the gaping hole in his chest still throbs.

Slowly, Harrison lowers himself and lies on top of the marble tombstone, fingers gripping the grass and soil that covered the body of the first man he had loved.

* * *

He goes back to the Manor some hours later, covered in dirt and soaked to the bone. The Potter house elves rush forward and tug him towards his room, cleaning him and warming him up with a thick comforter and mug of chamomile tea. _(But didn't they understand? He couldn't be warmed, not anymore.)_ They leave him after they tuck him in bed, huge eyes sad and watery as they watch their master slowly crumble.

Logically, he knows now that with the death of the muggle boy- because now he cannot even think his name without hyperventilating- means that he has no more weaknesses. Voldemort has no more trump cards over him, and that means nothing can hinder his plans anymore.

But as Harrison glances at his big, empty bed, he can almost feel the soft whispers on his skin and the tender kisses against his shaking lips that first night they shared themselves with each other. The pain slams into him, making it hard to breathe, and he is seized with desperation to _make it all stop_.

He hurls the mug in his hand with all his strength at the wall. This starts as a catalyst, and he jumps up, grabbing his possessions and smashing them against the four walls of his bedroom.

He stops after a moment, chest heaving and chaos surrounding him. He drops whatever he is holding, a remnant of maybe a chair leg, and throws himself to the floor, arms wrapped tightly around his body.

In the sudden silence of the lack of destruction, Harrison curls up into a ball tightly. If he closes his eyes, he can almost remember the exact way Arthur had held him every night when he felt alone.

But now, in this empty, destroyed room, he has never felt as lonely as he is now, and the fact that Arthur would never hold him again makes his broken sobs echo loudly throughout the night.

* * *

Severus Snape knows he is by far the most unsympathetic man in the entire world, so he cannot quite understand why Dumbledore is making him visit the young Potter in his manor.

The man had summoned him, and gravely inquired if he knew about the attack on the orphanage. Severus had scoffed, because everyone with more than half a brain knew. It was all the Daily Prophet could talk about, with quotes directly from the Minister himself, saying how dreadful it all was and how torn up about it young Harry was. There had been a small ceremony, but none of the press were able to enter the premises, so there was no comment from the Potter Lord since he had retreated inside his manor and could not be reached.

But it was all over the news now, Harrison's stay at the orphanage, and many were sympathizing and felt quite sorry for him, so Dumbledore should really get one of those people instead of Severus who had absolutely no idea on what to say.

Unfortunately for him, Dumbledore always got his way, so now Severus sighs once, before staring glumly at the Potter Manor.

He is ushered quickly in by a house elf, and he is quite content to wait in a living room, but then the elf drags him up and into a floor that Severus thinks is _not_ where parlor rooms are, but where _bedrooms_ are and he silently curses old, interfering headmasters.

They stop abruptly in front of a door, and Severus shivers at the freezing temperature in this area of the house.

"Master is not feeling well. Please help him," implores a tiny voice, and Severus feels quite out of his depth as he watches the elf wipe a tear away before disappearing.

He reaches out and tries the door, finding it open and enters the room quietly. There is no light, so he takes few moments to let his eyes adjust. When he can finally make out the inside of the room, he gapes at the ruins of furniture and broken glass. It seems as if a tornado has passed through, leaving destruction in its wake.

"What are you doing here, Professor?"

Severus jumps a little, startled at the flat, emotionless words. He squints for a moment, before finally locating the boy on the floor.

"I came by to see if you were alright," he says stiffly, tugging self-consciously at his robes. Green eyes watch him, unblinking, and Severus reminds himself that he is grown man who does not fidget.

"The Mirror of Erised," Harrison says, eyes still fixed unwaveringly on him.

Severus frowns a little at this, because the boy isn't making any sense at all. Worry starts to creep up on him, and walks gingerly towards the figure on the ground. He crouches down in front of him, disregarding how funny he must look, with black robes crumpled around his knees.

"The Mirror," the boy repeats, licking his lips once before continuing softly, "it shows your deepest desire. You saw my mother."

The older man's frown grows at this, but he nods anyways.

"You saw my mother," Harrison says again, and Severus is quite close to hitting something in impatience.

"Yes yes I saw your mother, and so did you, as you once told me," he says, trying to mask his restlessness.

Those green eyes suddenly close, and in the dark, Severus can hear the boy's soft, ragged breathing. He feels quite stupid now, and he twists his lips in remorse.

"You see your deepest desire. I saw my parents, but I also saw him," Harrison murmurs, and then a little sob escapes him, and Severus feels his heart break a little, because he knows the pain of the Dark Lord taking someone important from you.

"I saw Arthur, with me."

The confession is barely audible, and in its wake are tiny, soft cracks in Harrison's heart and soul, and Severus has never felt so infinitely sorry for someone else other than himself. He looks at the dark, empty room with all things broken and at Harrison, who has wrapped his pale, shaking arms around his chest as if to keep himself whole, and feels a surge of pity for the boy who is too young, and too hurt for this war.

He reaches out and wraps the boy gently in his embrace, never mind that he has not embraced another in almost eleven years, and whispers stiff, yet gentle promises as Harrison cries in his arms. He can feel sharp fingers digging into his back, rough enough to bruise, before Harrison abruptly pushes him away.

Severus can feel confusion tinging his thoughts, and he carefully starts to detach himself from the boy. Maybe he has overstepped his boundaries; Severus himself would be uncertain and a little furious if someone randomly hugged him after all.

But no, because Harrison's fingers are now on his arms still digging and digging into flesh, and from the corner of his eyes and in the dim lighting of the room, he can see the pale flesh lighten and become translucent, which can't be right, but before he can look closer those green eyes start flashing like the avada kedavra curse, way too close to his face and then-

Suddenly there is no more space, and Severus blinks and blinks again when Harrison lunges towards him. The meeting of their lips isn't soft or gentle or anything like those cheesy romantic tv shows he saw when he was younger; Severus thinks that it is all rough and hard and desperate, as if by kissing him, Harrison can obliterate everything else. It is a whirlwind, one that has him stunned and frozen, and he can do nothing but be rigid against the onslaught.

Then as abruptly as it starts, Harrison is gone, the pressure on his lips diminished to a mere tingle. Severus can do nothing but dumbly raise his hands to his mouth, fingernails scraping against the already bruised skin.

Harrison doesn't say anything, just watches him a foot away with those unfathomable green eyes in pure silence. Severus doesn't dare to break it, doesn't even think to call upon any traces of anger and shout at the boy about propriety and morals and how utterly wrong it is to kiss your professor.

The silence grows on and on and on, and those green eyes just keep staring at him, and there is an itch under his skin, as if fingernails are slowly crawling their way up and down his body.

And still, Harrison does not speak.

Severus starts to hear a ringing in his ears, and the feeling of things creeping and writhing under his flesh strengthens. So he opens his mouth to try and break the silence, to try and clear his head and make sense of what's happening-

When Harrison leans forward and closes his mouth.

The second kiss is everything the first wasn't; it is languid and unhurried, a kiss that one would give to his lover in the quiet hours of morning when the sun had yet to rise-

This time, Severus tries to protest, jerking his head back to yell at the boy, but Harrison follows. Their lips disconnect and meet, muffling his outcries. He uses his hands next, to push the infuriating boy away, but Harrison is strong, terrifyingly strong (or maybe Severus is just weak from the feel of those velvety lips gliding and molding themselves to his), and he overbalances, falling onto his back with a thump.

Harrison wastes no time, crawling on top of the older man and falling on top of his chest like a blanket. He doesn't kiss him anymore though, and Severus is glad for the tiny reprieve as he tries to catch his breath.

"Severus…"

He looks down at the boy on top of him, and in the dim light, he can see the sheen of tears on the cheek closest to him.

"I'm so… _cold,_ " Harrison breathes, and then he looks up, to Severus, and even in the darkness of the room, he can see the utter paleness of the boy's flesh.

"So, ssssso cold…"

Wordlessly, Severus conjures a warming charm, surrounding them both and heating their pressed bodies. A laugh escapes the boy at that, and it is so weary and cynical that Severus flinches.

"Charms and potions do nothing for this coldness," Harrison says quietly, shifting upwards until his head is nestled on the crook of Severus' shoulder. "Hold me, Severusss," he continues, words still soft and tired that Severus' arms snap up and enclose the boy in another embrace before he processes this.

 _Dementor_ , Severus starts, because he now remembers exactly who- or what- he is holding in his arms. Memories of their conversation months ago, about how mere touch can make others obey, and oh _god he had just_ _been kissed twice-_

"What have you done to me?" he chokes out, arms heavy and unwilling to move for their master.

Harrison shifts again, to give him a one-eyed stare of reproach, before leaning his head back on the shoulder beneath him.

"Nothing, dear Severuss, nothing at all. I merely took the liberty of… accepting the concern you felt for me in my own way," comes the reply, swift and clear.

A pause, before Harrison continues, now more stiff than Severus has ever heard him speaking, "I am… always cold… human contact lessens it. Even for a creature like me."

The last words are pointed barbs, and Severus starts, wondering if Harrison can somehow also read minds.

Harrison exhales loudly, once, before burrowing deeper into his arms.

"Just, just hold me," he mutters, the words so old and resigned and full of exhaustion, and Severus doesn't know if it is because of Harrison's ability to make others obey him, or if it is all him, but he tightens his arms around the pained boy and buries his face into ebony black hair.

He, after all, knows how lonely the world feels when the one you loved was dead.

* * *

When Severus takes his leave, it is well and truly dark. A quick glance at the clock on his mantelpiece shows that it is already closer to twelve midnight than it is to eleven.

Harrison sighs softly, his mind recalling his weakness for the past couple of days. It unsettles him, how much hold the muggle boy still had over him. But then again, he thinks deprecatingly, that's nothing new.

But now, it is time to stop moping, he decides. He had let his research gather figurative dust in his study with his little breakdown, and with the threat of Voldemort growing bolder and bolder, there is no time to waste.

Sufficiently motivated now, he stands and snaps his fingers loudly. A house elf materializes quietly in the shadows, and Harrison nods shortly at it.

"Clean this up, elf," he murmurs, and it nods its head so furiously Harrison feels a disjointed worry for its poor neck.

"At once, Master, of course! Wendy is cleaning now!" she squeaks, before clapping her knobby hands together to bring the bedroom to its former, unbroken state.

Harrison watches the magic unfold before his eyes, and an idea starts forming in his mind. It takes hold, and the familiar glint in emerald eyes flashes as Harrison begins to plot.

If he could pull this off, then it would be remarkable.

No, Harrison thinks, it would be change _everything_.

Mind made up, he turns to the silent elf.

"Wendy," he starts, ignoring the elf's squeak of admiration and surprise at the use of her given name, "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything Master! Wendy will do anything!" she implores, eyes wide and determined.

A smile rises unconsciously on Harrison's lips, and he exits his room for the first time since Arthur's funeral.

"Perfect. Now, I need you to get me live humans. Both magic and muggle."

Here he pauses, running calculations in his head.

"Get at least ten each; five need to be children, and the remaining five adults. I don't particularly care for gender or race. In fact," he grins, and it is one filled with malicious excitement, "be sure to mix it up a bit."

Green eyes flicker down to the elf, and he is a tad surprised at the resolution in the elf's huge eyes. There is no hesitation, no shock, no fear.

His leer smooths over to a genuine, albeit small smile.

"I want them by tomorrow night," he murmurs, and the elf shocks him more when she kneels on one wrinkled knee and bows her head in obedience.

"Yes, Master."

Harrison turns away then, to make his way to his study, and with a wave of his hand, dismisses the elf.

When he arrives at his destination, he raises his head a bit and the candles all start to burn themselves and flicker light onto the study.

Taking a seat behind his mahogany desk, Harrison pulls out a notebook and a pen and starts scribbling his ideas and plans.

 _Voldemort won't know what hit him._

* * *

Wendy was capable, Harrison had to admit. The elf had arrived a little after tea time, bouncing on the soles of her feet and ears flapping in childish joy.

"Master! Wendy is done with your order," she had reported, before handing him a long roll of parchment.

Unfolding it, he had scanned its contents and laughed in surprised pleasure.

The elf had meticulously documented the humans she had gotten, complete with their ages, gender, and addresses. She had also taken his words to 'mix it up' to heart, and Harrison's eyes had glinted in satisfaction when he saw that his humans had been taken from all corners of the globe.

He had rewarded the elf sufficiently, and made his way to the dungeons happily. He had taken one look at the cowering helpless humans in the cells, letting their confusion and anger and _fear_ wash over his flesh, and laughed loudly.

 _Perfect_.

* * *

A scream pierces his eardrums relentlessly, and he looks down impassively at the naked, bloody body chained to the table in front of him. He had debated whether to silence his humans before he started his experiments, but ultimately decided not to. Screams were music to his ears, but this exasperating woman was, impossibly, getting on his nerves. She kept screaming out a name, a _Jared,_ and at first Harrison had merely smiled in malice. There was no way her _Jared_ could save her, and her stubborn refusal to lose hope was somewhat endearing at the beginning.

But after an hour of her continuous, shrill voice, Harrison feels the last of his patience snap.

Harrison leans down, and the woman's wild eyes spin before focusing on his face with difficulty.

"Hush lady, stay still," he murmurs softly, his breath hitting her clammy face and making her shiver. The words immediately take hold of her, silencing her vocal chords and effectively gagging her without her will. It only serves to frighten her even more, but Harrison's magic refuses to let her move an inch.

In the candlelight, her blood shines on her nude, tanned flesh like rubies. Harrison hums appreciatively, before consulting his notes. His green eyes glaze over in deep thought, and he painstakingly writes a couple of words on the margins, careful not to get any blood on them.

The woman's breathing is harsh and guttural now, and Harrison turns to her quickly in order to examine her state. Her eyes are rolling, and there is a tinge of grey-black on her skin now.

Harrison watches, fascinated, as the blackness crawls up her form and envelops her. Not a minute later, the woman's head lolls, and Harrison's breath catches as he watches her die.

He had always thought that death was unavoidable, and something to quietly despair. He had also thought that it was ugly.

But as he whispers soft words filled to the brim with raw magic into the quiet room, and as he watches the woman twitch and turn to look at him with glazed, yet intelligent eyes, Harrison thinks there is nothing more beautiful than death, and being reborn from it.

Harrison almost ends up spending the entire summer in his dungeons, gleefully testing out the limits of his dementor abilities and acquainting himself with the human anatomy quite intimately.

During the first week, he had gone through his initial batch of humans with alarming quickness. In his eagerness, he hadn't realized that his abilities had become more potent, and the human prisoners had died quickly.

Harrison had noted though, that muggles usually perished before magical beings; from what he had observed, the magical core in wizards and witches had a hand in their slight resistance to his deadly touch. Just barely though.

Another thing he had discovered was that the success rate for his little resurrections was higher with wizards than muggles.

Calling it resurrections might be a bit of a stretch however; he had been able to make the dead witch move again, but the awareness in her eyes had faded after a few seconds, and she had turned merely into an Inferi.

When he failed to bring back even the last muggle to life, Harrison had been filled with anger and tinge of hopelessness, and his suddenly uncontrollable magic had fatally injured the remaining wizard prisoners.

The house elves had rushed into the dungeons, eyes wide and terrified as they took in the scene of black mist flowing freely in a whirlwind around their furious master. He had only calmed down when the last two wizards had died, faces pale and bodies cold.

With a heavy heart, Harrison had ordered the creatures to clean up the mess, and to bring him more humans.

And so Harrison spent the break, stubbornly running his fingers and tongue around human souls.

He will figure out how to bring a person back to life, no matter the cost.

* * *

Author Note.

So, hello guys. Ahaha frankly I'm quite surprised this has managed to gain people's attention, since this is my first ever fiction here in this site. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, though it is a bit of a filler one. It had to be done in order for the plot to start gaining momentum, so I'm not sorry ahaha.

You might notice that Harrison is a bit OC with all his moping, but remember. No matter how inhuman and sadisitic he is, he's still a kid who just lost the first person who cared genuinely for him and did not fear him.

Oh, and if you guys noticed that I started the chapter with a song lyric, kudos to you! I listened to crying lightning by artic monkeys while writing this, so I guess it sort of sets the mood. If y'all want me to post my writing music in case you want to be fully immersed in the story, just tell me and I'll add some inserts in the subsequent chapters.

Someone asked me about my updating schedule, and frankly I don't really have one ahah. I'm working _and_ going to uni (I know, I'm crazy) so updates will be scarce but lengthy. I'll try to make up for my sporadic updating with long, juicy chapters for you with lots of angst and dark!evil!sadistic!harry. (We all know you're here for that, after all *winks*)

P.S. I'm also unfamiliar with the formatting of this site, and somehow my spaces and paragraph breaks are non-existent. Also for some reason I can't seem to center some of my words. I only noticed it now after going over my previous chapters. Does anyone have helpful tips? It's really quite frustrating.

Till next time, ladies and gents.


	5. Year II the dawn

_listen to this while reading: www youtube com/watch? v=IhP3J0j 9JmY  
_

 _(take out the spaces and the necessary dots cause ff is a bitch)_

* * *

 _hauntingly_

 _(Because the words echo and echo and echo, again and again and-)_

Once again, Harrison sighs and evades another hyperactive fool, lips pursed in irritation.

The platform of the Hogwarts Express is packed with students and their family, and the noise is absolutely deafening. After spending almost three months of being isolated in his near-empty manor, the crowd had startled him into near paralyzation.

Harrison runs a gloved hand through his long, untied hair, and continues onto the train to look for an empty compartment. There are people everywhere to his displeasure, and he reaches the end of the train in frustration.

To his dismay, the last compartment is not empty, and Harrison makes a mental note to come earlier to the platform next year.

The sole inhabitant looks up from his book and jumps up at his entrance, and Harrison's eyes flicker down to the snake emblem on the student's uniform. His face is vaguely familiar, and Harrison searches his memory for the boy's name.

"M-my Lord!" the boy stutters, voice low and soothing.

Harrison places his name now, recalling a boy the same year as him with the voice as smooth as honey, but a disposition of fidgety squirrel in his presence.

"Theodore Nott," he replies, nodding at the boy before leaning against the compartment's door and folding his arms.

The boy blushes furiously, a pleased light in his blue eyes when he realizes his Lord had remembered his name.

 _Cute_ , Harrison thinks, before quirking his lips up into a crooked smile.

"Are you waiting for someone?" he asks, amusement replacing his former irritation as he toys with the young boy. Harrison remembers his clearly now; the boy had no close friends in the House of Snake.

Theodore shakes his head quickly, eyes focused on Harrison's lips before blushing again and biting his bottom lip hard.

Harrison's smile turns into a full blown grin, and he slowly saunters to the bench opposite the boy.

"Then, perhaps, you would be content with my presence?" he continues to tease the young Nott, laughing when the other male splutters and pales at the thought of turning Harrison away.

The train starts to move then, and Harrison turns away to watch the scenery flash by behind the window. Nott remains politely silent, but when Harrison gives him no more notice, he returns his attention to his previously discarded book.

Their companionable silence is interrupted when a blonde head pokes into the compartment.

"My Lord! I've been looking all over the train for you!" Draco says, and even without turning his gaze away from the window, Harrison can already see the pout on those tantalizingly full lips.

A chuckle almost escapes him at the thought, and he shifts to glance at the young Malfoy.

When his green eyes land on grey though, his breath catches in his throat and memories, unbidden, threaten to drown him.

There is a faint ringing in Harrison's ears now, and a voice repeatedly rising and falling in waves and waves of a single word, a single _name_. Dimly, Harrison wonders how he ever forgot how similar Draco's eyes were to Arthur's.

 _Arthur arthur arthur arthur-_

There is a hand in front of him, reaching towards those grey, grey eyes that have widened and grown hazy in confusion and worry. The voice whispering softly and loudly in his ears is now becoming clearer and faster, the name tumbling around and becoming grotesque and twisted in its haste, and a lump in his throat silences him enough.

 _ArthurarthurarthurarthurarTHUR_

His hand- because it _is_ his, pale and bare and where did his gloves go?- is an inch away from the grey, but the eyes shift further away from him as Draco jerks back involuntarily. A quick, hot flash of pain presses against Harrison's chest, and his other hand reaches up to clutch at his shirt.

 _ArthurarthurarthurARTHURARTHURARTHURARTHU-_

"M-my Lord?"

Draco's meek voice breaks the trance, and Harrison blinks and suddenly, Draco is merely Draco, and the voice in his head quiets. The pain is still there though, the insistent throbbing in his chest, and it is even worse now that he is thinking clearly again.

The ache is so great that it makes him hiss, and his knees shake once before he falls ungainly back to the bench.

"My Lord!"

Two voices shout out at the same time, and Harrison's fingers twitch against his shirt when he remembers Theodore Nott's presence. He can do nothing more than grimace before Draco's face is shoved close to his, but this time Harrison is ready and more guarded.

When those grey eyes are close, he does not lose himself again.

"My Lord, are you okay? What happened? Does your chest hurt? Is it a spell? Should I send an owl to the school and request the nurse to-"

Harrison raises a hand to halt the torrent of worry from Draco's lips. His eyes are on Theodore, wondering how best to deal with the boy seeing his moment of weakness.

The Nott boy pales, seeing the cold, hard glint in Avada Kedavra eyes.

The young Malfoy, sufficiently chastened, leans back and looks between Harrison and the Nott boy. His fingers drop to his pocket and ghost over his wand, ready for an order from Harrison.

Harrison parts his mouth slightly, and tastes the air in the compartment. He has honed this skill over the break, and no longer needs contact with another's flesh to tell their emotions.

The air is charged with adrenaline, and a large amount of fear. But beneath that, there is a scent that makes Harrison change his mind about torturing the Nott boy and obliviating him.

 _Defiance_.

His tongue slowly licks his lips, and a hunger swirls in his belly. In the House of Snakes, the Slytherins had all been pleasantly subservient, excluding the time at Christmas. And even then, there had been not a shred of defiance in any of them.

But this, this boy with the scrawny limbs and the messy hair and the low voice, this boy is arrogant enough to think of _defying him_.

Thinking deeply, Harrison observes the blue eyes, filled with terror and steel. He needed someone like Theodore Nott, someone who was needlessly, foolishly brave. Harrison's thoughts whirl with the possibilities he could do with this boy's body and soul, and he laughs and licks his lips once again.

Theodore Nott is courageous, even when he is trembling with fear.

"Leave us," he murmurs, eyes flickering to grey ones before looking away in slight pain. It will take some time before he can look into Draco's warm eyes without suffering the ache.

The young Malfoy wants to protest, wants to stay with him, that much he can feel. But even he would not dare to go against a direct order.

The door slams on Draco's way out, and Harrison sighs when Draco's emotions, the sharp pang of betrayal and loss, creep over him. Tearing his thoughts away from the temperamental blond, he takes in Theodore Nott's rigid body before raising a hand and crooking a finger.

Nott rises and comes closer at the unspoken order, sinking to his knees before the emerald-eyed boy. There is even a stronger stench of defiance now that he is closer, and Harrison is hard-pressed to keep the ravenous expression off his face.

"Why do you defy me?" he asks, curiosity shining even through the hunger.

Theodore startles, eyes growing wide as fear temporarily overpowers his defiance. Clearly, he had thought that he could hide it from Harrison. That makes it even more delicious, and Harrison cannot hold off his desire any longer.

The thump their bodies make as Harrison pushes the boy on his back and straddles his hips is loud, but Harrison does not worry if others will investigate the sound. He knows that Draco would keep any unwanted visitors from coming, and a smile curves his plump lips.

Slowly, he lowers himself and rests his forehead against Theodore's, enjoying the sight of his reflection in wide, blue eyes.

"You, everything about you, you are mine," he says, quietly, before slipping his tongue through the boy's slack mouth.

Theodore tastes like fire, hot and bold. Harrison hums once before moving his tongue inside the boy's mouth. A strangled noise escapes Theodore, and from the way his fingers rise to clutch at Harrison's hips desperately, Harrison knows that Theodore can feel it, can feel how his tongue reached deep not just in his mouth, but in his very being.

It is a curious thing, _souls_. To any other being, it would be intangible and impossible to subdue. But, Harrison thinks as he thrusts his cold tongue into Theodore's mouth and into his soul, he is not just any other being.

There is something that hardens under him, and Theodore's hips unconsciously start to grind up into the cold body above him. It is animalistic and harsh, with no trace of gentleness. Harrison smiles into Theodore's mouth, and continues to run his tongue along the boy's soul.

Oh yes, this boy will definitely do.

* * *

When Harrison enters the Great Hall, silence descends on the staff, students and ghosts alike. It seems as if they all turn as one, eyes zeroed in on the impassive Lord Harrison Potter.

Over the summer, there were several changes that affected his appearance. Instead of neatly-tied locks, Harrison had allowed his dark, soft hair to fall around his face in a wave. It reached the middle of his back now, and fine hair shifted and shimmered under the Great Hall's candlelight. To some cultures, it spoke of mourning.

Green eyes were sharper now, with a hollowness that was not there before. It is a look that those who had lost someone important know intimately, and there are quite a few who swallow lumps in their throat.

They had all read the papers, about how the orphanage Harrison had lived in was attacked by Death Eaters, and how the boy had been distraught. Of course, the papers were unable to speak with Harrison himself, or those that had been with him when they discovered the bodies in the orphanage, but the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly had speculated and concluded that, yes, Harrison Potter was in mourning. Most had taken the news with a grain of salt, but seeing those green eyes look far too old and lonely, it becomes clear that the day the orphanage was attacked and its inhabitants murdered, something died in the Slytherin boy as well.

Yes, Harrison Potter had changed, but the way those lips quirked up ominously at his spectators and the way the Potter Lord and the Black Heir rings glint darkly on Harrison's gloved fingers show that while he had become a different person, it might not be for the better.

* * *

The Sorting is a quiet affair, with the students and staff restlessly shifting in their seats. As the last first year is sorted, and the vestiges of half-hearted applause melts away, Dumbledore stands and places his wand against his throat.

"Sonorus," he says into the quiet.

It is obvious, from the lack of the customary twinkle in his eyes, that the speech he is about to impart is not a light one.

"Students, both new and old, welcome!" the headmaster starts, a smile fixed on his tired face. "As always, it is a joy to see your young faces so engrossed at the thought of the marvelous feast after my words of greeting!"

His forced smile turns more genuine at the sounds of scattered laughter across the hall. It fades quickly though, and he continues in a more somber mood, "Alas, if you could allow me your understandably divided attention for a couple more minutes…"

Green eyes narrow at the sudden shift in the headmaster's tone, fingers clenching and unclenching on his lap. From the corner of his eyes, Harrison can see Draco glance at him, but he doesn't meet the blond's eyes.

The wizened wizard sighs, and surveys the hall's occupants over his half-moon glasses.

"As you all know," he begins, "over the break, there have been attacks all over Britain."

Harrison can already see the eyes on him, searching his face for any emotion. He can already hear the whispers moving stealthily from ear to ear. He can already _feel_ the grim anticipation to see him break, to see him weak.

(They have no idea that Voldemort was not the only behind all the attacks; Harrison thinks that maybe the amount of people he killed for his experiment rivals the number of casualties Voldemort and his Death Eaters had racked up.)

"Let us all bow our heads and offer a moment of silence for the people who have passed on, to those who are not with the living anymore, and to those who are still lost. They will not be forgotten," Dumbledore murmurs softly, voice only audible due to the spell he had cast.

Heads bow in rippling fashion, with the Slytherins barely tilting their heads. Instead, their eyes are fastened on their Lord, their cunning gazes roving over his face with the same emotion in all of their bodies.

With a start, Harrison reaches out with his senses, tasting the air. He is hard pressed not to laugh harshly; aside from Draco, Lestrange and peculiarly, Nott, all of his Slytherins held themselves aloof, dripping with _defiance_. He had not noticed at the start, when he had first stepped into the Great Hall, because the assault of the emotions of all the living beings in it had risen up and consumed his senses.

But now, with him focusing merely on his snakes, he can taste their dissent. It could only be because of his momentary emotional collapse, when he had stepped into the orphanage and found….. well. No wonder Theodore Nott, the twitchy year mate of his, had grown bold enough to go against him _even_ when he was alone. He's pounded out enough of the defiance in the boy, but it seems the other Slytherins needed their own beating.

It is clear that the Slytherins had spent the break mulling over their options, and what they had concluded shown in the rigid stance of their bodies and the hard lines of their clenched jaws.

After all, a Lord is only worth worshipping when he is strong.

A viciousness that had been laying low in his belly rises up, and he can already feel the malicious smirk on his face. His Slytherins wanted to see his reaction?

Oh, they will.

The rest of the Dumbledore's speech fades away and soon platter upon platter of food rise up on to the table before him. Harrison waits with an odd sense of detached anger, to see what his snakes will do.

There is a collective tense silence, and then a bulky seventh year who Harrison recalls as the one next in line when Carter graduated, a Malatov Tarnen, reaches forward and starts piling his plate with food.

This serves as an incitement, and the rest of the Slytherins follow his actions, eyes fixed solely on the table.

Harrison can feel Draco's worry for him, Lestrange's homicidal rage at his Housemates, and Nott's reluctantly stout devotion to him, but a small smile spreads his lips.

The Slytherins had made their choice.

* * *

When dinner is finished, they all troop to the dungeons. The only sound there is in the group is the shuffling of nervous feet and the trembling breaths of the lower years. The upper years are all stoic, lips pursed tightly together in what they hoped is a show of strength.

Harrison lets his lips part, and the overwhelming flavor of anxiety coats his mouth until he feels it dripping into his pores. It makes him smile, and really, he has to commend their bravery, because from their uneasiness, they _had_ to know that this would only end in one way.

They reach the common room in record time, their agitation hastening their steps. The fear is even more pronounced now, and Harrison cannot help but laugh this time as he walks slowly to his seat by the fireplace, Draco, Lestrange, and Nott quickly breaking away from the crowd to flank him.

Everyone freezes at his cold laugh, but it is only momentary.

Malatov Tarnen swaggers confidently to stand tall by the hearth, his wand in his hand. Harrison can hear Lestrange bristle like a mad cat, and suddenly he wonders if this is how Voldemort feels with Bellatrix Lestrange.

He spares an exasperated glance at the boy before sitting casually, his knees crossed. The three boys immediately move to stand in a silent half-circle around him, with Lestrange's hurricane of anger manifesting in his eager fingering of his wand.

Tilting his head, Harrison drapes his arms on the armchair and fixes his unholy green eyes on Tarnen.

"Well? I asssssume you have ssssssomething to ssssay, _Tarnen_ ," he murmurs sibilantly, pointed teeth glinting in the firelight as he flashes the other a grin.

Tarnen's heart stutters, and Harrison grins wider when his enhanced ears pick up on it. Harrison can imagine the frightening image he must present now; sharp teeth glinting, with flickering shadows dancing and splaying darkness over his ethereal face. The seventh year visibly swallows, before clenching his wand tighter and gathering his courage.

"Yes, I have something to say. You're nothing but a muggle lover, and while you might have some fancy wandwork, you're just a _half-blood,_ " he sneers, gaining more and more steam as he continues unhindered.

"You think you're all that because you're The Boy Who Lived, but once the Dark Lord is done with you, you'll be nothing. You filthy blood traitor. You're not fit to be the Slytherin King," he taunts, and from the way the silent, watching Slytherins had tensed and gripped their wands, they were ready to wrest the title from him by force.

 _Really_ , Harrison thinks, before throwing his head back and laughing genuinely. Eyes widen all over the common room, and everyone is frozen as they listen to the emerald-eyed boy's rich, delightful laugh.

Calming down slightly, Harrison sighs lightly and twists his lips up in a crooked smile.

" _Really_ ," he says, echoing his thoughts, "your words would have so much more effect if your heart wasn't pounding so quickly in fear, boy."

Tarnen flushes before branding his wand ostentatiously.

"Shut _up,_ half-blood! I challenge you for King!" he roars, anger drowning out his fright.

Lestrange twitches beside Harrison, clearly about to launch himself at the arrogant seventh year. Draco isn't holding up much better, the haughty, Malfoy mask creeping all over his face as he looks at Tarnen as if he was something utterly disgusting on the bottom of his shoe. Nott surprises Harrison in his sudden displeasure against the seventh year, and dimly Harrison notes the exacerbated effects of his kisses and touches, pleased.

Harrison spares them, however, an irritated glance. The way they were acting, it was as if Harrison was helpless.

Oh, he is anything but.

"Do not interfere," he commands, but his displeasure fades quickly when the three nod and murmur their assent.

A smile replaces his brief scowl at the interruption, and he turns his attention back to his livid contender.

"Excuse their appalling manners. Now," his smile turns positively feral, "I accept."

* * *

Severus Snape is summoned, and when he arrives at the common room, he sighs at the sight that greets him.

Being the Head of House, it is inevitable for him to preside over all House duels, which includes duels for the Slytherin King title. It is his duty to mediate, but nothing more. He cannot interfere in the matches, but as he watches the cruel glint in those deadly green eyes, he cannot help but wish he could.

The restless Slytherins all surround him, and with their pressing words and hungry gazes, they all tell him to start the duel.

Left with no choice, Severus raises his wand and enlarges the common room, placing a ward over the center of the room. Once the two step inside the space, all their magic will be bound inside it, making sure that no spectators will be harmed from stray spells.

Severus places extra care on the ward, strengthening it as much as he is able. Knowing Harrison, this "duel" will need it.

When he is finished with his task, he nods at them both. Tarnen saunters eagerly into the ward, confidence restored over the brief waiting period. Harrison stands sedately, flicking his unbound hair over his shoulder as he lets loose his tight control over his aura.

Now that the duel is about to start, he allows himself to feel the grim anger that had been slowly building inside him.

The room atmosphere instantly drops, and cold fingers snake over the the walls and floor. Ice start to form, especially near Harrison, and the fire suddenly dies out from the abrupt change in temperature.

Green eyes flash coldly as he looks over the gasping and shivering Slytherins.

He doesn't say anything, but from the accelerated heartbeats and the terrified faces, it is clear that they had gotten his message.

 _Beware_.

Inside the ward, the cold is less biting, and when Harrison steps inside of it, Tarnen immediately fires off a dark curse. Harrison raises an eyebrow, recognizing it; the curse is one banned by the Ministry, because of how it tortured the victim by boiling their blood in insufferable heat.

He bats the curse away effortlessly with his fingers, his other hand inside his pocket in a casual manner. Tarnen's words- _"you might have some fancy wandwork" -_ echoes in everyone's minds, and Harrison smirks slowly as his Snakes are all reminded of his formidable prowess in wandless magic.

A nasty glare mars Tarnen's face at the ease his curse was blocked, and he shifts lower into a crouch. The seventh year continues, barraging the younger boy with spells and curses so dark each would've gotten him a life sentence in Azkaban.

And still, Harrison merely bats them away, face bored and stance relaxed. He doesn't send the curses back to the older boy, doesn't give any indication to attack.

This only serves to frustrate the seventh year, and Tarnen jeers loudly at the still boy.

"Is that all you can do? Bat away my curses? Coward! You can't even attack me, because you know I'll knock you on your arse within a second!"

The watching Slytherins are all on edge, silently awaiting the inevitable outcome.

Harrison adopts an expression of mild shock, raising his finger to his parted lips in an expression of surprise.

"Attack? You want me to _attack_ you?" he asks in faux astonishment, before shaking his head and looking at the older boy in mock pity. "Oh you silly boy, you can't even _land_ a spell on me, and I'm not even _moving_."

Tarnen snarls at that, enraged beyond belief. He takes a step forward, wand arm trembling in fury, when Harrison continues.

"But if that is what you want…," he trails off, looking up at the older boy through his dark eyelashes before shedding his gloves, "then attack I shall."

That is the only warning Tarnen gets, before Harrison is right in his face, in all of his sinful glory. There is an unholy gleam in the Avada Kedavra eyes, and Tarnen suddenly feels absolute terror creep up and hold his heart tightly before a pale hand reaches out towards his face.

It all happens very quickly. Harrison has never gouged out someone's eye out, but he finds it remarkably easy.

Tarnen screams, falling to the floor and clutching his bleeding, empty eye socket.

Harrison sighs, his ear drums already protesting at the high-pitched noise, before looking at the wet eye in his bare hand. It makes a squelching noise, and Harrison grips it tighter, fascinated. Already, the eye is turning rotten, black spots appearing in the orb.

Carefully filing that observation in his mind, Harrison then squeezes, face twitching in disgust as the eye bursts in his hand. He relaxes his grip, and the punctured eye falls to the ground, red liquid dripping from his fingers. The watching Slytherins gag at the sight, and the stench of vomit permeates the air.

Rolling his green eyes at the weak-willed, Harrison turns to the sobbing male below him. He's always hated crying; screams, he could deal with, but tears always managed to irk him like no other.

Mercilessly, a booted foot kicks out, hitting Tarnen's gut and winding the air out of him. A gasp leaves bloodied lips, and the sobs abruptly stop at the lack of air.

"Better," Harrison hums, before flicking his finger and setting the boy into a hunched, kneeling position. He then bends down gracefully, gently cupping the other boy's blood-matted face. Harrison makes sure that Tarnen's one-eyed gaze is focused on him, before smiling.

From Tarnen's near-hyperventilation, he knows that his torture is nowhere near over. _Smart boy._

"You do know why I'm doing this to you right?" Harrison murmurs, enunciating slowly as if talking to a retarded child.

Tarnen doesn't answer, just wheezes and spasms under his fingers. Harrison sighs, before diving into the boy's mind harshly to shock him out of his state. The boy gasps and an alert light enters his one eye.

"Y-yes.. m-m-my Lord," the boy mutters, lips trembling extensively. Harrison really hopes he doesn't cry again, or else he might end up hurting the boy even more than planned.

Nodding benevolently, Harrison lovingly starts tracing patterns onto the boy's cheek. From outside the ward, he feels burning jealousy, and he nearly rolls his eyes at the Lestrange boy again. Only he would be envious of someone Harrison had gouged his eyes out.

"Now, _Malatov_ , I won't kill you. You were just, ah, _blindsided-_ " here he chuckles at his little joke, before purring, " -by your ambition. Take a good look now, dear Malatov."

Harrison's face moves closer to his, and there is only an inch between their lips. Tarnen has never seen anything more beautiful, but instead of being mesmerized, he can only feel terror.

Pink, full lips part, and Tarnen feels that deliciously sharp tongue that can command armies brush against his lips. He feels Harrison take his bottom lip in between his teeth, nibbling on it roughly before sucking. To his growing horror, he feels unending chill spiral in the pits of his stomach, freezing him and heightening his pain. He gasps silently, fearfully, when his skin crawls as if Harrison had dug his fingers under his flesh and wriggled them in his veins.

It is the abyss, filled with Avada Kedavra green eyes and dark frigidity.

"P-please," he pleads against Harrison's cold lips, the feeling of a thousand insects writhing under his flesh strengthening as Harrison presses closer. He feels a cruel smile twist around his bloodied lips, and feels rather than hears the words Harrison says in response.

"Remember your place, and remember that this is the price of your arrogance."

Harrison pulls back and smiles, mouth dripping with his blood and green eyes gleaming in malice, and with that last, terrifying image, Tarnen feels cold, cold fingers digging into his other eye.

The pain is even more excruciating the second time around, and he convulses and yells and tries to move, tries to back away, tries to shove those icy fingers away. But then Harrison's mouth is at his ear, and he shivers as cold breath hits him.

"Don't move now, _dear Malatov_ , you don't want me to hurt you," the sinful voice purrs, and Malatov feels his panic rise when his body sags uncontrollably, allowing Harrison free reign.

And so he stays, on his knees pliant and helpless, as his vision is taken away from him.

With a final twist of those pale fingers, his other eye comes free of its confines, and a sob is wrenched from his bruised lips. Harrison's magic releases him the moment the fingers leave his skull, and he slumps and falls to the floor, darkness pervading all his senses.

Harrison watches with a small amount of satisfaction as Tarnen falls, before pivoting elegantly to look at the rest of the Slytherins who had betrayed him.

Unending waves of fear slams into him, and Harrison breathes in the stench of blood and tears and horror, feeling the hunger in him rear its head and _smile_.

* * *

(Dinner, it whispers eagerly.

Souls without hope and drenched in fear, after all, are always the _sweetest,_ he replies.)

* * *

Harrison smiles, lips pulled back and all pointed, white teeth, and forces the traitors to their knees, before opening his mouth wide and swallowing their mortality.

* * *

Severus Snape is a man who has seen many, cruel things.

He has seen schoolyard bullies steal something precious from their victims and dangle it before their eyes, taunting and mocking. He has seen Death Eaters rape and pillage muggle towns, relishing in their screams and begs. He has seen children fall, eyes glazed and unseeing, as a casualty in an area where a battle had suddenly burned. He has seen the Dark Lord with his great snake slithering around his prey, skeletal fingers eager to snap their necks.

His eyes have seen many, cruel things, but as he watches Harrison Potter gouge out Malatov Tarnen's vision without a hint of regret, as he watches Harrison Potter eagerly swallow the souls of his Housemates, Severus Snape fears that he hasn't seen the worst yet.

"That is enough," he manages to say, when most of the Slytherins have crumpled, boneless and barely alive.

He directs his words to the green-eyed boy, tries to make them sound commandeering and harsh, but his knees are weak and his throat too dry.

Harrison obediently snaps his mouth close at Severus' voice however, swallowing lightly and sighing. There is a delicate flush on his cheeks, and those green eyes are shining with what could only be pleasure. The boy looks at him innocently, beguilingly, as if hundreds of souls had not just been writhing between his smiling lips.

"I wasn't going to take it too far," Harrison chides, mischief playing on his smooth face. Severus doesn't trust him, and from the way the boy laughs and shakes his head, Harrison knows it all too well.

"Draco, Orion, Theodore, come, my sweets," Harrison murmurs suddenly, and the three stride toward him from their place by the fireplace, deftly avoiding the fallen. Harrison had spared them in an act of mercy and fondness, leaving them to watch the torture that had unfolded.

Severus eyes the trio, waiting for their reaction to Harrison's special… abilities. If they both acted out in fear and branded Harrison as a monster, then it really will be up to Severus to control Harrison's anger and betrayal.

To his surprise, Draco, Lestrange, and Nott merely kneel on one knee, napes bared in submission.

Harrison sighs in mock irritation, and places a hand on their chins, one by one, gently, to raise their heads. Draco inhales sharply when the blood liquid starts to stain his skin, but doesn't flinch away. Shining blue eyes close as Theodore relaxes under the touch, a soft smile on his pale lips. Lestrange, oh sweet, _darling_ Lestrange, Harrison murmurs, leans in closer, eyelashes brushing his pink cheeks.

The boy observes the three in amusement, blood coated fingers trailing up their cheeks and stroking cold, red patterns on them. They become limp, and slump slightly into their genuflection, breathing quite heavily. Severus feels a flush rise up in his cheeks, and he forces himself to look away.

It is astonishing to watch, to see their true devotion to Harrison. Because no matter how skilled they are in masking their emotions and shielding their thoughts, Harrison would know if there is a spark of rebellion flowing in their veins.

Kings in the Slytherin House usually assumed the position through connections or, rarely, brute force. They were respected, yes, and their orders followed, but those below always strived to be better, to grow their talons long enough to drag the King down. It is a constant battle, to see who will be on top, and the loyalty to the current King is a double-edged sword. It shows in how Malatov Tarnen had singlehandedly planned a coup d'etat against the Potter Lord.

Theodore Nott, like his father, was always born to follow, born to kneel. The flush of servitude suits his pale skin like a warm glove.

But this, _Draco Malfoy,_ scion to the Most Ancient and Noble Malfoy House and a strong contender to the Slytherin King title, and _Orion Lestrange_ , a boy with fingers deep in almost all of the organizations on this side of the planet, seeing these two powerful Slytherins worship freely at the hands of a monster like Harrison Potter…

Severus has seen many, cruel things in his long life, but seeing Harrison Potter with his first three Inner Circle members makes him shiver in terrified anticipation.

* * *

Malatov Tarnen is quickly taken care of within that night.

Harrison buries the boy's memories deep in case someone pokes around his head, and adds a few grisly scars on Tarnen's face for good measure. The story for the boy's blindness now, is that he had snuck out to the Forbidden Forest on a dare and got mauled by a creature. Luckily, he had been able to send out sparks for help, and Severus, on patrol, had seen and rescued the poor boy.

He doesn't erase the memories, even though it definitely would be safer. Severus tries to make the boy see reason, even tries to obliviate the blind male himself, but Harrison cocks his head and Severus finds himself grasping air, his wand deftly being caught by a smirking Draco.

"When Malatov is back home with his mummy and daddy," Harrison starts, lips twisted in a malicious sneer, "when he thinks he's safe and sound and when he's about to fall asleep, I want him to remember. Remember my face right before my fingers entered his skull. I want him to remember the searing agony, his screams echoing in his ears until he wakes up, blind and shivering and _terrified_. Because that is what happens to those who tries to take what is rightfully mine, to those who oppose me."

Severus doesn't question him again after that.

The rest of the Slytherins are given Pepper Up potions from Severus' own personal stock, and he grumbles about this under his breath. Lestrange, who's nearby and pouring the liquid carelessly down a student's throat, hears him and laughs.

When it seems as if the students aren't in mortal danger anymore, Harrison waves his hand widely and their bodies start to levitate towards their dorm rooms.

The five of them are left in the common room, and Severus absently waves his wand to shrink it back to its regular size. Harrison's staring at him again, and there's a gleam in his emerald eyes that makes Severus remember the night when he had gone to the Potter Manor to comfort the boy.

He swallows roughly, berating himself for his thoughts, but is unable to tear his gaze from the green orbs. Abruptly, Harrison shifts and quirks his lips up and Severus finds the oppressive air gone. From the boy's smile, Severus knows that Harrison has a strong inkling on the content of his thoughts, and _really_ , this isn't something he should be thinking about a boy who had recently had his fingers in another's eye sockets.

So he snaps out a hurried excuse about papers and manages to insert a half-hearted insult, before sweeping out of the room without his customary billowing robes.

* * *

With the Slytherins firmly reminded of their Lord's strength and their rightful allegiance, breakfast the following day is quiet. Harrison sits in the middle of the Slytherin table, with Draco and Lestrange hovering by his elbows, with Theodore sitting across them all.

He does a great job at waving their unwavering attention away, absently chewing on a pastry as he looks over the silent, motionless Slytherins. The Pepper Up potion has lost its potency over the night, and most of them are still pale, with their fingers grey and trembling.

Harrison sighs and rests his chin on his palm, tapping the index finger on his other hand impatiently on the table.

His Housemates all flinch, before tilting their heads to show their attention. Not one of them meets his eyes, and Harrison decides that he quite likes their reinforced obedience.

"Eat, my snakess," he commands softly, "you all have a duty to uphold the Slytherin name in your respective classes."

And with that, they move, reaching for the pumpkin juice or bacon or whatnot, and slowly they regain their color.

* * *

His three devoted followers do not ask him about what he did to the Slytherins; Harrison knows that from their perspective, because mere humans cannot see the fragile form of souls, they only saw him breathe in and swallow air, while the Slytherins all became weak and helpless.

Still, that doesn't stop them from becoming intrigued, especially when it is clear that their Head of House knows exactly what Harrison had done. It shows in their cursory glances at his mouth as he chews on a bagel, in their half-started questions that end up being quieted, their tongues wrapping around the words until they have no chance of being asked.

They know better than to question him, to demand for answers like they were all _equals_.

Harrison chances a look at Draco's inquisitive grey eyes with a pang, at Nott's raised eyebrows, at Lestrange's trembling lips holding all the curiosities inside of him, and sighs.

* * *

The rest of the houses do not have to wait long enough to see whether the summer's events had affected the green-eyed boy.

The first class of the term for the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors is Defense Against the Dark Arts, and after their breakfast, Harrison leads the way to the classroom. There is little banter between the Slytherins, their footsteps tentatively hitting the cool stone floor behind their King. They make quick work of the distance, and enters the empty classroom with five minutes to spare.

Harrison glides to his customary seat by the window and the rest of the Slytherins spread around him in a hesitant protectiveness. Time and time again has proved that Harrison can protect himself just fine without their help, but servants are meant to serve, after all.

Draco quickly claims the seat next to him, a smug smirk on his pale lips, causing green eyes to roll at his antics. After the demonstration of the night before, Harrison doubts that the rest of his Snakes would feel comfortable sitting in such close quarters with him.

The Gryffindors trickle in minutes later and behind them is the most garish-looking man Harrison has ever seen. The man struts- because there is no other possible way to describe the ostentatious peacock walk- to the platform before smiling widely at the students amassed.

A scoff leaves Draco's lips, and Harrison is almost inclined to mimic the sound of derision.

"Welcome, friends and students! Allow me to introduce myself, though I'm sure you know who I am!" here, the man pauses, to flick his blonde hair away from his glowing face in a practiced motion, winking and smiling even wider.

Harrison wonders how wide that smile can go before the man's jaw unhinges and tears itself off his face.

"I am Gilderoy Lockhart, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Dazzling Smile Award and author of those books you have now," he preens, gesturing towards the towering books on each student's tables that had been on the required list of school supplies for second year. "I will be your professor for this year, and hopefully for the years to come!"

A couple of uncertain laughs resound in the near-silent classroom, and Lockhart smiles even wider at the sound. Suddenly, he claps his hands loudly and pulls out a cloth-covered cage from behind the teacher's table.

"Now let's jump right to it! Our first lesson will be about one of the most terrifying beasts I have ever encountered in my years as an explorer. These devilish creatures will stop at nothing until they have wrecked havoc on your life, all the while grinning and enjoying your screams of despair!"

The description catches the attention of the restless students, and even Draco unwillingly leans forward a bit in his seat.

Lockhart flashes his teeth at his suddenly attentive audience, continuing, "But never fear! For I have years of experience, children. I can handle almost anything thrown at me, my dear students. Now, without further ado, I give you, the Cornish Pixies!"

Flashily, he whirls off the white cloth covering the cage, presenting the little creatures out for the eyes of his students.

A dumbfounded pause blankets the entire classroom, which the man takes advantage of.

"I see you are all stunned, so I will pick a volunteer to help me with the demonstration," he happily says, bright blue eyes scanning the crowd before resting on bored green eyes.

Lockhart swallows briefly at the expression, before forging on with an insincere smile. He was never all that smart, after all.

"Why don't you come up here, our little celebrity, hm? Harry?" he asks arrogantly, his smile twisting into a more sinister form.

Draco snarls at that, slamming his fist on the wooden desk. The rest of the Slytherins aren't faring better, with openly hostile glares burning holes into the foolish man. They might have slighted their King the night before, but the fact that an outsider, a weak-brained, impudent peacock of a man like Lockhart had the audacity to call upon their King in such an insolent manner riled their feathers.

"Do not call him Harry, peasant. He is worth more than you can ever become in your measly lifetime," Draco sneers haughtily, drawing himself up superiorly.

Bright blue eyes widen at the sudden change in the green and silver clad students, blinking in confusion.

A cleared throat catches the attention of the entire room and all eyes focus on the boy by the window.

"Draco, that was immensely rude to our new professor. Apologize," Harrison murmurs, gently, as his green eyes bore into Lockhart's blue ones.

Rallying quickly and realizing his mistake, Lockhart laughs sheepishly and raises his palms up in placation.

"It is quite alright, Lord Potter, I was overstepping my boundaries and was quite discourteous to a Lord. Rest assured I won't make the same mistake twice," he offers up a tentative smile, before sighing as Harrison nods acceptingly and stands.

The boy makes his way to the front, slowly and elegantly, black hair swaying gently with every movement. When he comes to a rest by the cage, Lockhart nods and takes out his wand.

The tension in the room solidifies, with all the Slytherins glaring at the stick held in the man's fingers. Harrison is hard pressed to not punish his snakes- do they really think he couldn't handle a weak, subpar Wizard such as Lockhart if he attempted something malignant against his person right now? Really, the man's magic core is so small, it is a wonder he could even cast spells.

"Now, Lord Potter, the incantation for the handling of these pixies is-"

Harrison clears his throat once more, before shaking his head lightly.

"It is quite alright, Professor. I know what to do," he says genially, a light smile playing on his pink lips. The man is momentarily distracted, blue eyes focused on the way Harrison's lips are stretched and plump.

A soft growl is heard from the Slytherin section, and Lockhart gathers himself instantly and subtly shakes his head, a pink glow on his cheeks.

"Alright then, Lord Potter, I will be opening the cage on 1, 2… 3!"

The creatures hurtle towards the open gate, intent on bringing about as much destruction as their tiny hands could wreck. Green eyes flash, and pink lips part for a tongue to peek out and wet them.

Nonverbally, Harrison waves his wand and the pixies stop in their mad dash for freedom and ruination. Gasps reverberate in the classroom at the show of power, and Lockhart grasps the tabletop tightly.

He had hoped to put the young Lord in his place, as a favor from one celebrity to another. After all, Lockhart was the more experienced one when it came to being in the public's adoring eye, and it was just customary for him to give the famous young one a hard time. Challenges would only build character, he had concluded. However, the young Lord was clearly powerful, even more than himself.

Calculatingly, Harrison observes the pixies frozen in air, before waving his wand again and vanishing the lot of them into nonexistence quietly. Green eyes twinkle in morbid satisfaction, before landing on the motionless professor.

"Anything else, _professor_?"

The man pales at the underlying message- _anything else you want me to vanish?_ \- and shakes his head hurriedly, dismissing the class and exiting the classroom as if hell's hounds were nipping on his heels.

* * *

The summon comes after a week.

Harrison thinks that maybe Dumbledore wanted him to settle into his classes first, to let him submerge himself in the comfort and banter of his supposed friends, before asking for his presence on the first Saturday of the term.

A fifth year Hufflepuff, a prefect, approaches him after breakfast when he is in the library, surrounded by tomes and dust and ink. Lestrange's fingers immediately go to caress his leather-clad thigh, where Harrison can see his wand resting in his wand holster. He frowns at the boy who's casually lounging on the windowsill beside Harrison's table, coiled to attack.

Draco isn't much better; he had frozen when the Hufflepuff's footsteps drew closer to their little nook, and immediately donned his haughty, Pureblood mask, fingers clenching and unclenching around his quill.

Theodore merely burrows his head deeper in his notes, not one to outright attack another, but his fingers grip his book tightly enough to tear the pages.

Really, Harrison thinks, shaking his head at them.

The prefect, immediately sensing that he wasn't quite welcome, hands Dumbledore's note to Harrison's waiting, gloved fingers before taking his leave with a nod.

"You mustn't be so quick to attack," Harrison says when it is just the four of them again, feeling his eyebrows scrunch up in weariness. He fears that this won't be the last time they have this particular discussion.

His green eyes quickly scan over the note, tuning out the proclamations of protection and undying loyalty from Lestrange and the nods of agreement from Draco and Theodore.

* * *

 _Mr. Potter,_

 _I was wondering if you would care to have tea with this old man on this fine day. There are a couple of things I would like to discuss with you._

 _Albus Dumbledore_

 _P.S. I adore Sugar Quills._

* * *

An undignified snort escapes him, and he waves off his fellow housemates' queries before making his way to the Headmaster's office.

When he arrives, the Headmaster is waiting patiently, two cups of steaming Earl Grey already set on the desk in front of him.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, so glad you could make it," Dumbledore exclaims, looking at him over his half-moon glasses as Harrison takes his seat across the man.

"Of course, Headmaster. I must say, I was quite intrigued by your words," Harrison demurely replies, crossing his legs at his ankles and placing his hands on his lap. The man's blue eyes twinkle genially, and Harrison feels anger stir lightly in him. He still cannot forgive the man for placing him in a muggle household, withholding his birthright and Lordship.

Harrison twists his Potter ring, and blue eyes flash at the action. Harrison keeps the smirk off his face, but it is a trial when Dumbledore's feelings of frustration of being thwarted fills his mouth.

"My dear boy," the old man starts, lapsing eerily fast into his grandfatherly role, "I must apologize first and foremost for not being able to attend the memorial. I offer my condolences; I hear that they meant quite a lot to you."

Harrison ruthlessly pushes down his memories of his time at the orphanage, already quite furious at the Headmaster for involving the muggles in their conversation.

"Thank you, Headmaster," he says smoothly, and blue and green eyes lock. His eyes betray nothing, and soon the elder man looks away with a sigh.

"Of course, my dear boy, that isn't the only reason why I called you here," he finally says, and when he looks at Harrison again, the boy can see that he had dropped all pretenses.

"Your teachers say that you are a hardworking student, eager to learn and very bright. You're almost always at the library, and you would've been a perfect little Ravenclaw, but I digress," he pauses, glancing at the boy in front of him from over the top of his glasses. "You have been part of the Wizarding World for a year now, and that is plenty of time for you to catch up on the events of the past decade. And considering your house, you must be extremely knowledgeable about the War. I called you here, because you are Harrison Potter, and because Voldemort is almost upon us once again."

A false expression of mild shock graces Harrison's features like a second skin, and he leans forward, as if in agitation.

"Voldemort, sir? How do you know this?" he questions, mind whirling at the possibilities.

If the old bat was bringing out the big guns early on, or so to speak, then he must definitely have some sort of plan regarding Harrison. There would be no reason for the man to give away sensitive information to a twelve-year-old, who could easily cause a major panic with his words.

But what leverage did the old man have against Harrison? How would he keep the boy from speaking out?

Dumbledore sighs wearily, and rubs his tired blue eyes from under his half-moon glasses. Harrison notes the slight trembling in his veiny fingers, and swallows his scoff. He doubts a man as esteemed as the headmaster got to where he was by acting weak in front of those below him.

"There was a stone hidden here, last year. It contained the power to return him to his body, and Voldemort had one of his servants steal it. I had hoped, that it did not work, that Voldemort's soul was too broken to be returned to its body, but it was a futile hope. The stone has extremely powerful properties, and it seemed to fulfill its purpose."

Harrison leans back, crossing his legs gracefully.

"You mean the Philosopher's Stone, then, headmaster?" he prods, casually.

A calculating glint flashes in frigid blue eyes, and a small amount of triumph fills Harrison's nostrils.

"How did you know that it was the Philosopher's stone, my boy?" Dumbledore asks, with the air of a cat cornering a mouse.

Harrison is hard pressed to swallow his laugh. "Sir, there are only a few magical gems in existence that can help a soul regain its body. And from your words, it spoke of familiarity. So I narrowed the options, and made an educated guess; after all, there is only one stone that you had crafted that had such wondrous properties. Plus Nicholas Flamel's death over the summer strengthens my hypothesis. Of course, this is merely speculation."

Dumbledore deflates minutely, and nods slowly. Harrison inwardly rolls his eyes; if he had, in fact, helped Voldemort gain power once again, he would be more sly about the entire thing. Dumbledore must be losing his mind if he had suspected the boy at all. Then again, the old wizard had always been biased against Slytherins.

"That is very well-thought out, my boy. Very well-thought out. You would've done well in Ravenclaw…," he trails off, before clearing his throat and continuing.

"Yes, it was the Philosopher's stone, and now Voldemort has resumed his activities from before his fall; the murdering of muggles and muggleborns."

"Excuse me sir, but does this mean you're preparing a safe house for me?" Harrison interjects lightly, twisting his lips in a frown as he cackles in glee inside. He watches and tastes the confusion his words cause in the old man, blue eyes narrowed in frustrated uncertainty.

"A safe house, my boy?" Dumbledore reiterates, fingers clamping down hard on his mug of tea.

Harrison nods his head regally, and a couple of strands of his unbound hair falls over his shoulder. He tucks it back absently, and hums.

"Yes, headmaster. Since Voldemort has been after my family in the past, it would be wise to assume that he is after my life since I was the one who supposedly vanquished him in my early years. I would expect him to hold a large amount to anger and hatred towards me for making him look like a fool," he pauses, taking his first sip of his now-cold tea, before inwardly grimacing at the potent mix of Veritaserum and Compulsion potions in the beverage.

 _How bloody dare he,_ the boy fumes, before clearing his throat and shaking off the effects of the near-lethal doses as one would with rainwater on an umbrella. His father had, after all, made sure he was immune to most potions.

He sets his cup of tea down gently, carefully monitoring his expression from slipping into anger as he catches a glimpse of the headmaster's triumphant twinkle.

"So a safe house would be in order for me, won't it, headmaster? To keep me safe until the war finishes?" he continues, letting his tongue rest heavy against his mouth in an attempt to mimic the effects of the potions.

Dumbledore pauses, surveying the boy openly before clearing his throat and leaning forward.

"Harrison my dear child, you are the Boy-Who-Lived," he says reverently, and Harrison inhales slowly, digesting the man's emotions with a tinge of disbelief.

The man spoke with the air of a madman, a sycophant who believed in nothing but the title and the prestige and responsibilities it brought with it. Boy-Who-Lived, it seemed, was a title that equaled Savior.

"You cannot hide from your fate, dearest one," the man continues, murmuring so softly that Harrison involuntarily flinches at the tender words. "You will be the champion of the Light; you will defeat the Dark and its Lord because it is in your blood. Your fate was set in stone the moment you were marked."

Harrison's gloved fingers raise half-heartedly to stroke his scar, groggily blinking up at the man. He had read, after all, that truth serums and compulsion potions messed with one's psyche and reflexes; after ingesting a fair amount of either, one can be sure of confusion, memory loss, and sluggish movements. With both potions mixed heartily in his tea, the effects are staggering- if Harrison was a normal boy.

It would do him no favors to show that serums had no effect on his person.

"Headmaster…?" he mumbles, "I don't want to die."

A hard light enters the man's steely blue eyes, reminiscent of winters past that have taken the summers and springs of those whom have departed from life.

"I will be with you every step of the way, child. I will help you in this quest. Never fear, dear boy, that Light will always triumph over the Dark," he pauses, surveying the pale boy before gesturing to his tea. "Drink up, my Harrison, you look quite thirsty."

Gloved fingers obediently reach for the fine china, moving it listlessly to his lips and sipping on the amalgamation of liquids.

Dumbledore watches the pale throat bob in satisfaction, before continuing.

"My dear boy, the people are counting on you. Muggles, Muggleborns, Witches, Wizards, Creatures; they are all hoping for you as their Savior. I will guide you as your mentor, but you will be the Liberator."

Dumbly, Harrison bows his head so that his ebony hair falls over his shoulders and covers his expression.

"And not only will the Light side praise you, child. There are countless of Dark Wizards and Witches who would desire nothing but to see their Dark Master fall; they are merely too weak and unfortunate to carry out that desire. Like your friend, Mr. Malfoy."

Those words send a jolt of fire down Harrison's nape, and he snaps his head back as quickly as he can under the circumstances of his act.

"D-draco…?" he mutters through unfeeling lips, feeling anger rising up in his belly at the audacity of the man to use _his_ Slytherin as blackmail.

The old man nods solemnly, his white hair shifting and glinting under the lights.

"If the Dark Lord is not defeated, he would be marked and undergo torture, both of the physical and mental anguish. If the Dark Lord is not defeated, he would be forced to turn his wand on innocents and take their lives, and in turn murdering the rest of his humanity. If the Dark Lord is not defeated, he would writhe and scream under the Cruciatus Curse every time he displeases the insane man. If the Dark Lord is not defeated, Mr. Malfoy will not be Mr. Malfoy anymore; he will be nothing but another Death Eater owned by Voldemort."

The fire in his stomach grows even hotter, as Harrison imagines losing Draco to Voldemort. A brief image of Draco waiting for him after he spoke with Dumbledore during their first year, with sleep-mussed hair and wrinkled silk pajamas, flashes behind livid green eyes.

"No," he unconsciously mutters, eyes glazing over at the horrifying prospect.

A rotten stench of ugly triumph fills the room, and Harrison clenches his fingers as Dumbledore smiles at him, teeth flashing nastily.

"Never fear child, once you defeat the Dark Lord, Mr. Malfoy will be free from the chains that came with his name and birth status," he says imploringly, sinister emotions brewing behind his grandfather facade.

Harrison nods once, unclenching his fists and exhaling inaudibly.

"I will do it then," he agrees, because what other choice did he have? Murdering Voldemort in cold blood was always in his plans, so this little alliance wouldn't ruin his goals in the slightest.

Dumbledore grins widely, eyes softening into liquid blue steel at his victory, and Harrison makes a mental note to drive his fingers deep into the manipulative little man and rip his heart out before Voldemort's cold, dead body hits the floor.

* * *

Author Note.

I can't believe people actually really like this haha. Anyways this is year 2 of hogwarts, and it's so long that I decided it'd be best to split it into two chapters. Hope y'all enjoy this and till next time!


	6. Year II checkmate

They disperse after that, with Dumbledore's parting words of meeting biweekly in order to train Harrison for his task. All the while, the boy nods and slurs agreements when necessary, tamping down on his anger and murderous intent.

When he is finally dismissed, he walks sluggishly to the door, before racing to the common room.

Dozens of eyes flicker towards the entrance as the stone makes a grindingly loud sound. Harrison ignores his Slytherins, heading straight for his dorm. His footsteps make an aggravatingly staccato rhythm, and he spares a single, heated glance at grey eyes and pale lips by the fireplace.

The heavy door creaks close behind Harrison as he enters the empty cold room, and the tightly controlled leash on his anger finally breaks.

In the aftermath of last summer, Harrison had found out that destruction, bare-handed and violent, brought peace.

Gloved fingers close on the nearest object, a book about magical theory or another, and hurls the tome at the stone walls. It hits the wall with loud thud, splitting open the book and tearing the spine in an odd angle.

A chair closely follows the demise of the book, shattering at the joints and splintering into broken fragments. Heavy curtains flutter wildly with the absence of wind, reacting furiously to Harrison's maelstrom of ire.

 _How dare that old, manipulating coot poison him with those potions? How dare he try and twist him into a mold that was not for him? How dare he force him to play the role of the Savior, how dare he how dare he how dare hehowdarehehowDAREHE_

Distraught green eyes glare at his surroundings, before falling on his nightstand. Furious hands grapple with the object, before flinging it at the walls.

It is at this moment that grey eyes peek into the room, peering around the wooden door. They widen at the state of the room, and Draco quickly makes his way inside.

With anger brewing and frustration pumping a hard beat in his veins, Harrison doesn't notice.

He reaches for another object to haphazardly break against the unforgiving stone, when warm, warm arms enclose him in a tight hug.

It is very, very rare for Harrison to be caught unaware. The first time, _and the last he had sworn_ , was when that foster muggle had grabbed onto his ankle after attempting to rape him in the dark of his room. It was when he was still surrounded by muggles, his birthright unknown to him and his powers uncontrollable. He had spent the entire summer bending his deadly touch and dementor powers to his will, ensuring that no emotion can ever get the best of him.

The last he had allowed another's emotions to overpower him, after all, he had killed the man.

Harrison shudders, jerking away as potent emotions not his own suddenly flood his nostrils, throat, and ears, blinding him and choking at the suddenness.

The arms around him merely tightens, unaware of the adverse effect they had brought to the green-eyed boy.

Harrison is taken back to that night, waves and waves of emotions and half-heard thoughts and half-thought sounds clogging his eardrums like water from the ocean. He is drowning and drowning and drowning, unable to breathe through his nose and unable to breathe through his mouth. If he opened his mouth to breathe, then more saltwater will enter his body, dragging him down even farther and away from the surface, Harrison is sure.

He desperately tries to pull on his barrier, to keep the foreign emotions out of him and his now deadly powers in, from lashing out and murdering whoever dares to touch him and inflict this, this suffering on him-

When he catches sight of frightened grey eyes in his peripheral vision.

And with the most supreme of efforts, Harrison summons whatever death that leaked out of his pores, calling them back in a wretched attempt to prevent Draco, sweet, sweet Draco who had seen the anger boiling in his stride and went after him to comfort him, to calm him down and to make sure that he was alright- to prevent sweet Draco's death.

The sudden lack of his influx of powers in their surroundings leaves everything hot, burning to the touch and Harrison musters up a laugh. It seems that the only way for warmth to occur if he isn't in the equation.

Draco jumps at the sound, cold sweat matting his golden locks to his forehead, before peering down hesitantly at the boy he held in his arms.

"M-my Lord?"

The laughter fades, as quickly as they came, and green eyes met grey.

"Yes, Draco?" Harrison replies pleasantly, as if he did not come as close as he did to murdering his right hand man.

A pale, milky throat bobs as Draco clears his throat, swallowing all the questions threatening to spill from his lips like acid. One doesn't question this enigma of a person, after all.

Harrison feels, rather than sees, the thoughts running through Draco's soul, worry and fright and curiosity all twisting and intertwining like smoke between fingers. Harrison had always found that bit of inquisitiveness in the blonde as something mildly entertaining.

Green eyes trace over white lips and disheveled golden strands falling carelessly over churning grey eyes. Harrison smooths back the silky blonde locks, slowly maneuvering his arms free out of Draco's frozen embrace.

He had always been weak to beautiful things, like grey eyes that reflected the light like polished silver. And Harrison supposes he owes Draco, for calming him down and snapping him out of the deathly rage before he killed anyone. The cover up for Malatov's "accident" was quite taxing- how much more for the murder of innocent students?

Harrison guesses that that is why he takes Draco by the hand, leads him to sit on his bed, and patiently gesturing for Draco to let those questions fall from his mouth like sand through an hour glass.

Draco is, understandably, confused and worried. He takes the silent offer hesitatingly, the words slow to come to his voice. Harrison waits, his gloved fingers still grasping Draco's and unconsciously drawing patterns on it.

"M-my lord," Draco begins, but does not get far as Harrison's leather-clad fingers pause in their ministrations. Harrison looks up, piercing Draco with serious eyes.

Even when the Slytherin King had his fingers deep in another's eye socket as he drained tens of students of their vitality, he had not looked this serious.

"Draco, there are things you must know about me. If I am to share them with you tonight, you must refer to me as Harrison. That is the name I was given by my dead parents, and that is what you must address me with, if only for tonight," he murmurs, voice low and crackling with an untold tragedy.

Draco nods hurriedly, his hair falling into disarray once again in his haste. The gloved fingers continue with their caresses.

"H-harrison," Draco musters up, voice cracking in his nervousness. His ability to speak continues to fail him, as he tries to ask just _what_ is Harrison exactly.

A brief smile quirks up the corner of Harrison's lip, before fading away.

"My dear Draco, your curiosity is going to get you killed one day. Not that I will ever let that happen. You're mine, after all," Harrison says, his magic tensing and writhing in anger at the thought. The temperature in the room drops several degrees, before Harrison calls his oppressive magic back into his chest.

"As for the question that you've been thinking for two years now," he shrugs and sends a pointed look at the blonde, before continuing, "I guess I would have to tell you about my dearest father who perished quite quickly under Voldemort's fear."

Eyebrows furrow at that monumentally confusing statement, drawing a short huff of laughter from the green-eyed boy.

"He was a man who, above the greater good, above the morality and the Gryffindor-esque personality, above all things, loved his wife and child."

The words take on an ethereal quality, Harrison's rich voice coating Draco like honey. Draco latches on to every syllable, unable to look away. Unwilling to look away.

"Yes, beneath all that posturing for the Light, James Potter was indeed, a fine specimen of the Dark. After all, what type of father would subject his child to dark rituals, altering his very own humanity and chaining him to a future of condemnation?"

Harrison sighs, before shrugging off his ramblings. He continues, "I guess my father would have seen me prosecuted as a monster rather than be dead-"

"You're not a monster!"

Harrison startles at that, the vehement defense of his person, his dark, tainted fingers twitching away from Draco. The blonde is flushed now, all traces of cold and paleness chased away by his irrational anger.

"Listen to me, Draco, and do not interrupt."

He begins to recount a summarized version of his past, of the rituals and sacrifices his father had done to get him this far. He tells him of his blackened veins and pale flesh, of the deathly scourge that rises from under his skin. He murmurs of the cold, the loneliness before he learned how to shield the black plague and contain it in his tongue and pores, of how he mastered the sense of touch once again. He sketches the figure of dark cloaks rattling against the ground, of wide, lipless mouths gaping open, eternally open. He likens that to himself, watching the light in Draco's eyes stay and stay and stay.

"You, you're not a monster, my lo-Harrison, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you! It's not like you asked your dimwit of a father to do this to you," he manages to exhale, the very fabric of his being shuddering in vehemence.

Harrison is surprised and a little concerned for the blonde boy's staggering defense of himself, confused beyond measure. While countless have praised him for his genius mind and his devastating good looks, people have always been sure that there was something quite wrong with the little green-eyed boy. Draco's ultimate disregard for the unease Harrison brings with him like a cloak throws Harrison out of kilter.

There has only been one other person, in the twelve years of Harrison's existence, that has shaken off the discomfort in Harrison's presence.

Harrison tells Draco this, and Draco narrows his eyes. The stench of jealousy fills Harrison's nostrils.

"He's dead now, though," he continues, his feelings for the muggle kept under lock and key. He had grieved enough; now it was time for action.

That, rather than the destruction of things in Harrison's anger, or the revelation Harrison's half-creature status, broke through Draco's mask and crumbled his face in shock.

"I-I'm sorry, my Lord," Draco murmurs, looking away and biting his lip.

"No, you're not. Do not lie to me Draco, I do not like being lied to," Harrison says, his words bordering on a hiss.

Because through the waves and waves of remorse, Harrison tastes another emotion that makes his nose shrivel in distaste and his tongue curl.

Triumph.

Sour, angry triumph that the only one Harrison had was him, that only Draco cared about Harrison in this way.

Harrison wonders just when the young Malfoy's admiration of him had turned possessive and ugly, but he shrugs it off and pushes their bodies until they are both lying on his bed, Harrison's head on the boy's chest.

After all, Harrison is the same way with him.

* * *

There are several plans to be made, several contacts to be had, and several truths to be constructed. Instead of one enemy, the ever-present threat of Voldemort breathing down their necks, Harrison is faced with multiple.

It is not like chess, where there is only black and white. It is not like the Light's side view on magic, where there is only Light and Dark. It is not like the age-old feud between Gryffindors and Slytherins.

No, because Harrison has enemies on both sides. After all, once Voldemort and Dumbledore are both killed by his own hands, the entire Wizarding World will call for his blood.

Maybe it's time to begin to ensure his continued survival.

And so, the rabbit hole calls to the curious.

* * *

The Eagles are the intelligent ones, easily manipulated by the prospect of knowledge. The Lions are the supposed righteous ones, the morally inept that they do not have the brains to think outside of the preconceived social norms. Each would be easy to deal with, their flaws shining like a muggle neon light in the streets.

No, Harrison thinks, the one he has to sway are the Badgers, the silent ones hidden in earth. Harrison is well-versed with the Kingdom Animalia, and with it comes the knowledge of what the badger truly represents.

Having studied in the muggle world for his primary education, Harrison knows that the badger family had been known to hide in the ground, their settlements underground. This was not a sign of weakness; this showed the foresight of the mammals when it came to their survival. They were not the strongest, so they built their habitats far from predators who could snap their bones in half with mighty jaws.

They bid their time in the dirt, flourishing away from outside influences. And when the moment was right, they emerged and struck, their teeth gnashing and tearing the meat off their prey.

Wizards and witches thought of Hufflepuff and immediately thought of weak, easily flustered children. Prone to the curse of frailty and of soft-hearted, most looked down on the House of Hufflepuff. Even the Slytherins had a certain amount of respect, as the purebloods almost always grew to be of some importance in the Ministry.

What they did not know, or what they conveniently forget, is that Helga Hufflepuff was renowned to be a world-class dueller, who was on par with Godric Gryffindor himself.

Wizards and witches forget that badgers are carnivores, capable of felling other animals greater and stronger than them- even the ever-venomous snakes and the loudest lions.

* * *

Harrison waits, and observes. His snakes are instructed to withdraw their attacks on the Hufflepuffs. It draw questioning glances from them, as Harrison had never bothered to reprimand them when they bullied those of the other houses. The older years blink at the instruction, before sighing at the thought of their stress relief disappearing. Hufflepuff-hunting was a pastime that they all had joyfully partaken in.

No one protests, because in the one and a half year Harrison has been King, he had made it very clear what he did to dissenters.

In the dark of the second year's dorm, Draco softly asks Harrison why he told the rest of the Slytherins to leave the Hufflepuffs alone.

The Potter-Black Lord raises his head from Draco's chest and wonders if he should punish the boy for questioning him, but lazily waves away the idea. He supposes he can humor the boy, seeing as Draco was fully his.

"The badgers are carnivores," he says sleepily, shifting slightly. Draco's arms reflexively tighten around him, before relaxing.

"Car-ni-vo-ores…?" Draco sounds out the foreign word, his eyebrows furrowing delicately in confusion.

Harrison stares, before huffing in irritation. "Good god, wizards have the most frustratingly lacking education."

He continues, lifting his shoulder in careless abandon. "No matter, you'll see soon enough Draco."

* * *

A few days later, Harrison finds the Hufflepuff King.

The lack of torment from the Slytherins had the House of Badgers worried, anxious that a larger attack would be coming. The bullying had been happening for close to a thousand years, and was one of the Hufflepuff's main defense. After the Snakes had thoroughly embarrassed and prodded the Badgers, they had usually left the house alone, relatively unscathed. It was a good way to keep their injuries and casualties low, seeing as the Eagles couldn't be bothered to harass the already beaten down and the Lions would rather die than follow the 'evil' Snake's lead.

Because of this sudden change, the house had scrambled, faltering in their carefully constructed easy-going personas and had fallen back to protect their King. If there is one thing Harrison admired the most in the Badgers, it would be their loyalty. Their naively fierce loyalty. He would have to ensure that that loyalty would transfer to him in the near future.

They did not take into account however, that Harrison's ploy hadn't been to attack; he had only wanted to confirm the identity of the King. And due to their anxiety, they had revealed exactly who Harrison would be dealing with.

 _Check_.

Harrison trails his eyes along the Hufflepuff table during breakfast, taking in their fear and worry with every breath. He delights in the tightening of their eyes, the almost robotic chewing of their food, the slight thrumming of their wands in their sleeves, ready to be whipped out in less than a second.

It is a liquid amusement pooling in his stomach, the way he can dismantle their masks and send them all in a panic with a mere command to his Snakes. He allows a lazy smirk to spread his lips, green eyes finally meeting stormy grey eyes across the Great Hall.

The King is seated closest to the Head table, furthest away from the door and any possible threats. It is not unlike how badgers burrowed their way into the ground, settling away from their enemies. It only made sense that their King, the one they had professed their undying loyalty to, would be the one farthest from danger. Harrison is hard pressed to keep his chuckles in at the predictable behavior; badgers, it seemed, really were animals of routine.

Elegantly, Harrison raises his goblet in a toast to the Hufflepuff King, and the future alliance between the House of Snakes and Badgers.

Cedric Diggory closes his eyes briefly, before opening grey orbs and raising his own glass.

Harrison hides his victorious grin as he drinks his pumpkin juice and Cedric Diggory's resignation.

* * *

The Hufflepuff common room is quaint, deep in the basement of the Hogwarts castle and buried underground.

Theodore studies the exits with a clinical eye, under the guise of observing the decor. Lestrange is less subtle in his scrutinizing, his narrowed eyes alighting on the Hufflepuffs surrounding them. Draco is distracted and therefore less worried, his nose wrinkled in distaste at the dirt floor and the earthy walls. Harrison smells the horror coming off the blonde at the way the brown soil clings to his designer shoes.

There are only four snakes surrounded by close to fifty badgers. Only one of the mammal would be enough to fell a lion.

Lestrange tightens his grip on his wand, his violent desire to rip the faces off those who surrounded him and his Lord rising with every movement. He reigns it in, however, because his Lord had explicitly stated to attack no one.

Harrison watches as his dear Orion swallow his slightly homicidal tendencies with satisfaction, before turning to face Cedric Diggory with a smile.

The Hufflepuff King offers an uncertain sort of smile in return, before gesturing to a seat in front of his. Harrison gracefully crosses the room, the soil absorbing his footsteps and that of his snakes', who had quickly and quietly followed him.

He settles easily in the copper-tinged couch, the soft fabric gently giving way to his weight and cradling his body.

"I must say, you Hufflepuffs have quite a homey common room," Harrison speaks, the first words he says ever since he was approached by the Hufflepuff prefects and escorted to their domain.

Cedric nods, a small amount of uncertainty melting away in the face of praise.

"Yes, it definitely is comfortable," he replies, with a few mutters of agreement from the rest of the Badgers.

Harrison observes the dynamic, still thrilled with the effortless allegiance that the Badgers gave to their King and to each other. If Harrison wanted the House of Hufflepuff, he would have to win their devotion rather than control them with fear. Even if he is stronger, a hundred times stronger, if he was to go against the house with force, the only way they would submit to him is through death.

Decision made, Harrison sets aside his own ideas of decimating their wills until they yield to his power.

"I come with the offer of a treaty of mutual benefits to our houses," he says, jumping straight in. He had no qualms about speaking freely in front of the entire Hufflepuff house, seeing as the King and the House were one. He could not reach out to one if the other was left out.

Cedric being the King only meant he was the wisest, the spokesperson, the mouthpiece in the Body of Hufflepuff.

Hufflepuff is united, truly.

"An alliance, you mean?" Cedric questions, an eyebrow lifted in confusion. "Why would you want to ally yourself with us? Your house has always terrorized ours."

Harrison nods, because he has been expecting this question.

"Yes, my house has always turned their… less than honorable extracurricular activities towards the distress of the House of Badgers-"

A snort sounds out on the side of the room, and an unknown voice pipes out.

"That's an arrogant way of saying that your house bullied ours! We've been to see Pomfrey more times than we can count!"

The Slytherins tense at the accusation, their fingers aching to reach for their wands and shoot a curse at the impudent fool. How dare he interrupt their King?

Harrison clenches his jaw minutely at the interjection, and the Hufflepuffs shift away slightly at the suddenly cooler air. They look around at the change, confused and spooked. Due to their distraction, it is only Cedric who sees the subtle flash of red in Harrison's Avada Kedavra eyes.

"Yessss," Harrison says, before continuing on with his explanation, "assss I wasss saying before you interrupted me."

The drawn out ssss, sibilant and reminiscent of a snake, has the Hufflepuffs quiet down and stare at the boy.

"My house has bullied, in your own words, your house for the better part of the millennium. That is an undeniable truth; however, I have not been the Slytherin King for those years. I have merely been the King from my first year, and if we would become more technical, that is less than two years.

For the last year, I have been dealing with dissenters and certain, personal reasons."

Harrison waves a hand dismissively at that, before forging on.

"And this year, I have noticed the unnecessary attitude my Ssssnakes have with regards to your Badgers. I am merely here to correct that mistake. Helga Hufflepuff was a strong dueller, with an even stronger heart. An alliance with the House she fashioned from her own soul would be a beneficial one."

A stunned silence meets his words, before Cedric shakes his head in disbelief.

"You Slytherins and your 'beneficial alliances'…," he says, the incredulity tinging his veins.

"What would it be in for us?" another Hufflepuff wonders, drawing out a rare smile from the Slytherin King.

"Helga Hufflepuff was a strong woman, but so were the other Founders. Once the rest of the student body figure out that my Snakes have dropped their tyranny of the Hufflepuffs, they _will_ act.

The Eagles will be the first to notice, and their intellectual curiosity will now have an outlet. Those spells that they never were able to test on a human subject will now fly and paint your skin with blood and bruises. Or they will only threaten to harm one, and subject the rest of you to their will. After all, your famed loyalty knows no bounds. And Cedric here, cannot protect himself at all times."

There is an instant uproar at his words, obscenities and anger thrown at him all the same.

The Hufflepuff King waves his hands at his fellow housemates, before turning to Harrison.

"That is merely speculation," he spits, disgusted at the mere thought of his badgers being subjected to that horror at his expense.

Harrison lifts a dainty shoulder in a carelessly regal shrug, before tilting his head slightly.

"Death calls the Raven, does it not?" he quotes, green eyes glittering, "Rowena Ravenclaw was a being quietly synonymous to death, back in the day. Her hunger for knowledge knows no bounds. It is said that she was the creator of the Crucio and Avada Kedavra, but I digress.

Her tendencies, if you will, watered down as it is, still live in the Eagles. The only reason why they stayed their wands was because they wanted healthy and whole human beings. They didn't want someone who was already on the end of someone else's wand; that would defeat the purpose of their little experiments. After all, their spells might clash with one of ours."

The common room is now quiet, pondering his words and horrified at the ring of truth in them.

"Even so," the Hufflepuff King says, eyes boring into Harrison's cold eyes, "even so, we are not weak. We will fight back."

The proclamation is met with cheers as the Badgers rally their confidence and supposed strength.

Harrison inclines his head elegantly, his unbound hair falling over his shoulder and giving him a more fragile look.

"But will you be able to protect them all?" he says innocently, his green eyes shining with hidden malice. His lips are turned up, in a delicate smile that enthralls, enchants, and entrances.

Cedric's stomach falls through his body, his heart rate skyrocketing at the thought of his Badgers falling under the wand of the Ravenclaws. It was such a ludicrous idea, of the silent and studious Ravenclaws hiding a monstrous beast hungry for knowledge and experience beneath their books. It was nonsensical, but… but.

Harrison presses on, his Avada Kedavra eyes relentless.

"With the Slytherins withdrawing from you, you lose your largest shield. The Ravenclaws will come first, and when they finally notice, the Lions will come as well to feast.

Your Head of House might be able to help, but she is but one person. She is also a professor, and the caretaker of all magical plants in Hogwarts. She is a busy person, and won't be there all the time.

You know you cannot trust the Headmaster. He is, always will be, biased towards the Gryffindors, and he will take the side of the Lions today, tomorrow, and the day after that.

If you join me, my highly-trained Slytherins will protect you. Separated, we are but a few drops in the ocean. But together, we are many, and we are strong."

There is contemplation in the eyes of the Hufflepuffs, his words ringing in their ears. Harrison is glad that the House of Badgers held no grudges, as it would be harder to convince them otherwise.

Harrison breathes out slowly, meeting the cloudy grey eyes of the Hufflepuff King, before dropping his last bomb.

"And with the Slytherins on your side, you will be further ensured of your safety in the upcoming war against Voldemort."

Theodore jerks minutely, and Harrison reaches out with his magic to caress the brunette's face. Now more than ever, the four snakes had to seem united.

The young Nott boy calms, but his heart beats out a confused rhythm. Harrison will have to deal with that behind closed doors.

Draco merely stands at the ready beside Harrison's chair, and Harrison knows then with complete certainty that the Dark Lord Voldemort had lost the heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy. Draco would rather die than submit to the Dark wizard, and Harrison is hard pressed to keep the vicious, triumphant grin off his cold face.

And dear, _dear_ Orion, fingers his wand carelessly, eyes tracing the reactions of the Hufflepuffs. Ever ready to defend his Lord. Sometimes Harrison wonders what on earth he did to gain the boy's utmost devotion, but that is a discussion for another day.

Harrison shifts his attention to the Hufflepuffs, most of whom had turned pale at the name. The Hufflepuff King himself is white, his fingers bloodless as they clutch at the arms of his chair.

He leans forward, as if to fight Harrison or to run, before rocking backwards from the gleaming Avada Kedavra eyes.

"You lie," Cedric says, "Voldemort is dead. You killed him when you were a baby."

Harrison figures that it would be easier to show the boy, rather than waste his words.

"Do you know Legilimency, Hufflepuff King?" Harrison asks softly, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and intertwining his fingers.

Cedric blinks, before stiffly nodding his head. The Potter-Black Lord smiles, showing his teeth and gesturing for the boy to enter his mind. With great reluctance, the older boy raises his wand and points it at the Slytherin King.

* * *

The next second, he is spiraling, rushing forward and entering the green-eyed boy's mind.

Harrison's mind is like a diamond, with light shining from every surface. Cedric squints and spins slowly, taking in the different facets of glass that encompasses every veneer for as far as the eye could see. The lights mix and form crystals of colors, blinding the cloudy grey eyes if they stared long enough.

Cedric realizes that the glass surfaces each contain different memories, and the light bursting from them was Harrison's personal defense.

"Amazing," he breathes out, unable to comprehend the entirety of Harrison's gift with Occulumency.

A light push steers him in the right direction, and the Hufflepuff King goes willingly. The light dims in one glass, allowing Cedric to open his eyes normally and look at the memory held within. The push is relentless, hustling him closer to the glass.

The glass gives way to his fingers and before Cedric can exclaim, he is drawn into the surface. He emerges in Snape's personal quarters, where the air is cold and the air humid. A whiff of wormwood floats into Cedric's nostrils, and he is once again astounded at Harrison's mind.

When one enters another's mind, the memories they might encounter are always flat, like muggle tv show. There are no scents or temperatures to engage the senses of the intruder, but Harrison's mind is different.

Shaking his head slightly, the Hufflepuff turns his attention to the two people in the memory- Professor Severus Snape and Harrison Potter.

The paleness, which had receded when he entered Harrison's mind, comes back in full force as he watches the memory. The memory contained the scene wherein Severus had confessed Dumbledore's suspicions, and the circumstances regarding Quirrel.

Of course, Harrison made sure to keep Severus' true allegiance to himself, only showing the Hufflepuff King the essential parts, wherein he had stressed that Dumbledore himself thought that Voldemort was resurrected by the Philosopher's Stone.

* * *

Once the memory ended, Cedric feels a sharp pain in his gut, as if someone had kicked him very, very hard and he gasps. In the next moment, he finds himself in his body, ejected forcefully from the Slytherin's mind.

But he could care less about the painful treatment as his thoughts raced along with his pulse.

Harrison Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived, the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord is dead, and the war against the Dark wizards is over. These were the truths Cedric had grown up to, and watching them being dismantled right in front of his eyes leaves him disoriented.

The Slytherins are silent, their eyes waiting and fingers ready to sink their claws in the stunned Badgers.

"C-cedric?" a Hufflepuff asks softly, the Badgers shifting uneasily and leaning closer to check if their comrade is okay.

The voice snaps Cedric from his stupor, and he sends a reassuring smile at the female student who had called out his name.

"I'm okay, Maxine," he says, before turning his gaze to the silent four.

"You are Slytherins, and most of your families are affiliated with You-Know-Who. Why would you go against him?" Cedric asks, mind whirling.

A scoff tears his attention from Harrison, and the Hufflepuff looks at the young Malfoy scion.

"Voldemort-" he says condescendingly, as if he was speaking to a dim-witted child, ignoring the gasps of the Badgers, "is a madman. The Slytherins follow our Lord and King."

Draco ends his sentence with a soft huff, before shifting closer to the seated Slytherin.

Cedric doesn't fail to notice how the other two Slytherins, Nott and Lestrange, move in the same breath, tightening their protective circle around the green-eyed boy.

He looks at Harrison, before biting his lip and looking around the room. Cedric knew that once he was voted as King, he would have to make hard decisions that prioritized the good of his house. He had never expected though, that a decision of this magnitude would fall on his shoulders. The most troublesome judgement call he thought he would have to settle was the occasional disputes regarding the Quidditch schedule.

With a half-sigh, half-groan, Cedric shifts in his seat before meeting triumphant green eyes.

"The Hufflepuffs will stand with you, Slytherin King."

Harrison smiles, all teeth and blood red lips, and Cedric feels very much like he signed a seal with the Devil himself.

 _Checkmate_.

* * *

Author's Note.

I honestly think that no house in Hogwarts is purely evil or purely good; after all badgers hunt and eat snakes and lions (you can search it up if you don't believe me haha.) I think Hufflepuffs are pretty cool too, and everyone else in the Wizarding World has done them a great disservice. But this is merely my own take on the little badgers.

((And to the person who wanted Harrison to kill Dumbledore right away, well, Harrison isn't a foolish Gryffindor anymore. Here, he's a cold-hearted Slytherin who knows that Dumbledore is a wizard who has decades of experience over him and the man's political power would be a huge backlash on him if he fails to kill the old man. He also has plans that he wants to set in motion, and Dumbledore is in a lot of them. So, as much as I hate the old guy, it'd be detrimental to Harrison's overall character.

Even Tom Riddle didn't start trying to kill Dumbledore until he was turned down for the DADA teaching position. /shrugs/ so before you cuss me out and send me hate mail, please try to relate to my babies thankyouverymuch.))

Ahem. With that out of the way, I hope you all enjoy the story, even if it's shorter than my other updates. The next one will be longer, I hope. Till next time!


	7. Interlude III

_(what is stronger_

 _than the human heart_

 _which shatters_

 _over_

 _and over_

 _and still lives?_

 _-rupi_ _kaur_ _)_

Harrison walks to his common room, after his lesson with the headmaster.

The man had begun their lessons by letting him drink tea with potent confounding and suggestion potions, supposedly leaving his mind ripe for the taking. The only thing Dumbledore had accomplished was giving the boy a slight headache from the strain of keeping his temper in check.

They had then spent majority of the session diving into Dumbledore's pensieve, reliving memories of Tom Riddle's past. Harrison thinks the entire endeavor is useless; he didn't need to know the Dark Lord's life story to murder the man.

He obediently watches though as the angelic face becomes more and more skeletal, as bright eyes become even brighter with a hint of insanity and rubies, as the lonely Tom Riddle-child becomes the feared, cruel Lord Voldemort. He learns of horcruxes, of the man's flight from death time and time again, of the anger and desperate loneliness that the abandoned young boy wielded like a knife. And even though he keeps a strong façade of mild indifference, he can't help but draw sharp similarities with his life and Voldemort's.

Both geniuses, both talented beyond belief, both sought after only for their pedigree or titles, but both ultimately, unconditionally unwanted.

He remembers his first year, the constant nasty whispering of his fellow schoolmates as they observed their Boy-Who-Lived thrive under Slytherin's banner, the angry red curses flung at his unprotected back by Carter and Flint as they dreamed delusions of his downfall, the relentless surge of mutiny and desertion of his own snakes at any sign of weakness, regardless of his fury.

And he remembers the broad back of Arthur, as he turned away with tears in his eyes and walked away from him that summer before he died.

Harrison is unnerved, and he wonders if he had the capability to twist himself so much in hatred, cloaking his dead flesh in it and extracting vengeance against the world who had abandoned him.

Harrison swallows roughly and threads his fingers through his unbound hair uncharacteristically. He wasn't so sure he wanted to know the answer to that; a few years ago, he would have replied in the negative without hesitation. But now, with the blood of hundreds on his fingers and the constant aching in his chest after the dreadful summer, now, he didn't have enough faith in himself.

He silently enters the Slytherin common room, his footsteps gliding quietly. Majority of the snakes merely nod at him before continuing with their activities. Harrison had wanted none of them pomp and frivolity other kings had demanded, such as kneeling and groveling. He was secure enough in his power for the other snakes to know their place without all the sniveling.

Grey eyes snap up at his entrance, glittering in delight. Pale cheeks are flushed from laughing, and blond locks are mussed slightly as if Draco had run his fingers through them in amusement. Harrison's green eyes fall on Draco's company, flashing as he spots Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass hanging off the blond's arms. Harrison feels a hollow, phantom ache in his chest at that, before quickening his stride to his room. Draco stands abruptly, leaving behind the company he had been seated with and bounding towards him.

"How did it go, my Lord?" Draco asks softly, quickly falling into step beside Harrison.

Harrison abruptly stops in the corridor before his room, lips twitching downward in confused irritation. He feels the amusement that had been hovering over the blond vanish slowly, replaced by a tinge of worry.

"Why did you come to me? I did not call for you," he says, green eyes staring straight ahead.

The air of enjoyment is now fully gone, with a healthy amount of hurt in its place. Even without looking, Harrison can see the pout on Draco's lips.

"My Lord, I merely wanted to see if you were alright," the blond says, a pained tone in his voice.

Harrison stiffens even more, before answering the young Malfoy scion haltingly, "It's none of your business, so go back to your little friends and leave me."

Green eyes flash quickly to look at hurt grey eyes, before realizing what that tight feeling in his chest was.

 _Jealousy._

How ridiculous. Draco was his, the Slytherins he was talking to and laughing with were his, and now the Hufflepuffs were his. Harrison wonders when he had become so possessive and emotional, and a small, scientific part of him begins to worry about the implications of his emotions.

He wonders if it had anything to do with his thoughts, if his musings of abandonment had regressed his emotions and thought process into that of a child. Harrison is hard-pressed not to snarl as he reaches that unwanted conclusion; he was not the same child who longed for the company of his classmates and watched them frolic in the playground as he sat alone and hurting.

As he is deep in thought, Harrison fails to notice the spark of understanding in grey eyes, and the devilish smirk on those pink, plump lips.

Draco Malfoy is, if nothing else, astute.

"Pardon me, my Lord," he says, before locking his arms around the frozen green-eyed boy. Draco fleetingly breathes a sigh of relief that Harrison had stopped in the corridor, away from the common room or the other boy might have thrown a fit at how he was being manhandled. At least there was no one around them.

They reach the room quickly, and Harrison wrests his arm away from Draco's grip by then. Green eyes flash at the impudence, anger rising at Draco for touching him and grabbing him, and at himself for allowing it.

"Pardon me again, my Lord," Draco says, and before Harrison can get a word in otherwise, he leans in and engulfs the Slytherin King in a warm, warm hug.

Harrison freezes, green eyes wide. He stays still, Draco's emotions gently weaving around him like a blanket.

After a few moments, Draco pulls back with a crooked smile on his pink lips.

"Are you feeling better now, my Lord?" he asks cheekily, well aware that Harrison would never punish him without a dire enough cause. Draco might have been a spineless, terrified boy when he had first met Harrison, but he was also a Malfoy. And Malfoys have always been blessed with eyes sharp enough to _see._

And Draco can see very clearly, that Harrison was jealous.

Harrison, The Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, Defeater of the Dark Lord, Slytherin King, and the boy who could kill on a whim, was jealous of two prepubescent girls.

Draco's smile grows wider into a grin as he watches Harrison's face twitch with shock and confusion.

"Don't worry my Lord, I'm all yours," he says seriously, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Green eyes slowly blink, before the shock dissipates completely. A sigh leaves pale lips and Harrison shakes his head amusedly.

"You are going to be the death of me," Harrison replies honestly, softly, before tapping the soft cheek skin underneath grey, grey eyes. He supposes that Draco's timely intervention had taken his mind from Dumbledore's increasingly confusing actions and his own, sinister musings, and that was a feat in itself.

Draco grins.

* * *

It is close to Christmas when Lestrange nods meaningfully to his King as Harrison is moving from Charms to Transfiguration class.

During dinner, the two are missed, but Draco and Theodore merely wave any questioning glances away. From the head table, black eyes narrow at the empty seats, before reaching for the wine. Severus had a bad feeling.

In the West Wing of the Castle, in an abandoned classroom, Harrison is perched daintily on a recently cleaned desk. He sighs in exasperation, staring at the kneeling figure before him.

He had already ordered the boy to sit next to him or at least stand, but Orion was quite adamant about the proper respect Harrison apparently deserved. Well, he thinks, it's not entirely unwelcome.

"My Lord," Orion grins ferally, before tapping his forehead briefly, "Happy Yule. I have found you an early Yuletide present."

Harrison quirks a brow at that, taking up dearest Orion's offer and diving into the boy's mindscape.

When he emerges from the memory Orion had shown him, black mist is swirling lazily around Harrison. In the West Wing of the Castle, in an abandoned classroom, Harrison smiles with pointed teeth and sharpens his claws.

 _Time to go hunting._

They leave through the Forbidden Forest, quickly jumping from branch to branch quietly until they reach Hogsmeade. As one, they drop to the snow-covered ground, magic silencing their fall and covering their tracks.

The younger boy tilts his head and Orion nods quickly in response, before offering up his arm. With gloved fingers, Harrison holds on to the other boy before they disappear with a nearly inaudible crack.

As a seventh year, Orion had already taken the Apparation test and passed with flying colors; it is mere child's play to shift the time and space continuum to pull them to their destination.

They reappear in a different place; the peaceful, snow-covered town of Hogsmeade fade into the town of elegant, gated homes of the rich and powerful.

Harrison drops his gloved fingers from Orion's arm, and the boy strides forward to the nearest gate. With quick, practiced movements, the enchantments and wards fall slightly under Orion's wand. The wards bend to his will, leaving a sliver of space for the two to squeeze through, but not wide enough to trigger an alarm.

Bowing, Orion makes way for Harrison to take the lead. He watches as the younger boy glides forward purposefully, the shadows from the dim moonlight throwing the handsome face into darkness.

Orion shivers in desire and excitement, hurrying after his King.

They enter through the upper window, landing softly on the carpeted floor. The air around Harrison is filled with carefully concealed bloodlust, and Orion bites down hard on his lip to keep the hysterical laughter in.

It wouldn't do to alert their prey after all their careful measures to stay hidden.

He cocks his head, listening intently. A faint waft of music and murmured chatter reaches his straining ears, and he smiles. They were all gathered in the dining room; it would make his King's job easier.

 _Dining room,_ he whispers breathily into Harrison's ear, enjoying the way the little goosebumps rise on the nape of Harrison's porcelain flesh.

Avada Kedavra eyes fall on him and Orion has to bite his lip once more, to keep the groan in. Harrison had the most wonderful eyes he had ever seen, which was saying something as Orion had held a thousand eyes in his palms already. Harrison was truly, and utterly perfect.

Orion blinks those thoughts away, before starting and hurrying after Harrison's form disappearing down the hallway.

Their footsteps make no sound as they walk down the hallway, as they descend the stairs, and as they enter the dining room.

Their footsteps, however, make a sound as they leave the grounds of the mansion. As they walk confidently to the door, the squelch of their shoes tapping against the blood-covered floor is the only sound their footsteps make.

He glances at the boy next to him, drenched in beautiful red liquid. Orion thinks then that Harrison is truly, and utterly perfect, and drinks in the sight of those Avada Kedavra eyes filled with insane bloodlust and death. He would follow his King forever, even if it meant that he had to murder Voldemort himself.

Harrison stops by the gate and turns to face Orion. His lips are red, painted delicately from the souls of the Death Eater scum. He smiles and holds out his hand to Orion for the Side-Along Apparation.

"Who's next?" he asks, his blood-stained teeth flashing in the dim moonlight.

* * *

Severus summons Harrison to his quarters after breakfast, and Harrison waves off Draco's concern. He tells his Snakes to go on to class ahead of him and inform the professor in case he is late, and Draco reluctantly lets himself be dragged off by Theodore.

Harrison leisurely walks to the man's room, humming a tune under his breath.

Severus waits until he is seated comfortably on his couch before throwing the Daily Prophet on the table in front of him.

"Families Brutally Tortured and Murdered in their Homes: Proven to be Death Eaters" greets him, pictures of Aurors and Unspeakables streaming in and out of the houses under the bold headline.

Harrison raises a brow at the man in front of him.

"What is this, Severus?" he asks innocently, eyes twinkling.

The man grits his teeth in frustration, before starting to pace the length of his room.

"You did this, didn't you? You and that insane little brat of a Lestrange. That's why both of you weren't at dinner last night. Do you have any idea what you've done, you stupid boy? Have you no sense in that idiotic brain of yours? The Dark Lord will not stand for this! When He retaliates, and believe me, He will, I will be stuck scraping you off the ground- WHY ARE YOU SMILING?" Severus shouts, face flushed, arms gesturing wildly.

Harrison shrugs one shoulder carelessly, his dark hair shimmering under the candlelight.

"I find your worrying to be quite endearing," the boy says, knowing fully well that his words will only serve to infuriate the man even further.

With a strangled half-scream, Severus throws his arms up in the air before collapsing into the seat next to Harrison.

With a wave of his gloved hand, Harrison levitates a tray of tea for two and sets it down in front of them.

Severus sighs and nods his thanks, long fingers grabbing a cup and sipping the warm liquid. He eyes the smiling boy next to him, before sighing again in resignation.

"He is going to retaliate, you know," he repeats, calmly.

Severus had been watching the boy carefully, so carefully, so he didn't miss the satisfied gleam in those deadly eyes.

"Then let him come," Harrison grins, with all the anger and hatred of a young boy who had lost everything.

Severus sighs again and sips his tea in defeat.

They spend a brief moment in companionable silence, before Severus speaks again.

"No matter how many you slaughter, it won't bring him back" he murmurs gently, eyes trained on his cup. There is a beat of tense silence, before Harrison sets his cup down on the tray.

"They killed him. They knew he was important to me, so they killed everyone before him and made him watch. They tortured him for days before they finally killed him," Harrison says haltingly, words heavy and ripped from his throat.

Severus closes his eyes at the raw pain in the young boy's voice, before reaching over slowly. He moves with the pace of one approaching a cornered animal, and watches Harrison's face carefully. When the boy makes no attempt to pull away or lash out, he gently uncurls the clenched fists and pulls out his wand.

Harrison blinks and looks down, watching silently as Severus healed the cuts on his palm from his fingernails and repaired the gloves.

Green eyes flicker up to meet solemn black eyes, and he continues.

"I saw them. I saw their memories, heard their laughter, tasted their sick amusement. I saw it all, so I killed them. I ripped them limb from limb and stopped them from bleeding out. They didn't deserve to die easy deaths."

Severus examines his clouded green eyes, before nodding.

"Then they needed to die. But," he says, his voice taking a reproaching tone, "I expect that you refrain from going on a mass murder spree on a school night. And certainly not with only Mister Lestrange as your company. He's just as bad as the rest of his family; thank Merlin this is his last year. That homicidal lunatic is a bad influence on you," he mutters.

Harrison blinks, and muddy green shifts into clear emerald gems. A smile finds itself on his lips, and Harrison makes a noise of half-baked agreement.

"How did you even know who were responsible?" Severus questions.

The smile widens into something more feral, and a soft chuckle escapes him.

"Seventh years are allowed to leave the castle grounds when they have urgent family business," Harrison replies happily.

"As the only Lestrange not indisposed in Azkaban, dear little Orion has been named Lord Lestrange for quite some time now. Ever since last year, I think. Of course, that entails quite a lot of meetings outside of the castle, so he's been doing me a favor ever since last summer's incident, keeping an eye and an ear out, if you will," he continues, waving his hand dismissively.

Severus stares at him for another minute and shakes his head, before throwing back his head and downing the rest of his lukewarm tea. Setting down the cup on his tray, he stands.

"Well at least warn me next time, so I can talk you out of your idiotic plans," he continues, face turned away.

A chuckle reaches his ears and he glances at the seated boy from the corner of his eye. Green orbs meet his gaze, shining brightly with amusement.

Standing, Harrison gives a small bow. When he looks up from his lashes, Severus watches the mocking grin on the boy's face with a healthy amount of resignation and distaste.

"Whatever you say, Professor," Harrison acquiesces, teeth flashing.

* * *

"So, what did Snape want?" Draco asks over lunch, dabbing a napkin delicately against his mouth. Harrison thinks it's to prevent others from reading his lips, which is quite unnecessary as he had already erected a privacy, notice-me-not charm around their group when he felt the questioning air around the blond. He appreciates the gesture though.

Harrison hums slowly, before taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. He glances at Severus over the rim of his glass, before flickering his eyes towards Theodore and dear Orion. The two were doing their utmost best to appear indifferent but failing quite miserably to his eyes.

The same stench of interest is floating around Theodore's flesh, and Orion wouldn't know subtlety if it bit him on the nose.

Setting his glass down gently, a crooked smile plays on his lips. He tilts his head slightly towards Draco and licks his lips, eyes glimmering under dark lashes.

"Curious?" he asks mockingly, enjoying the way the three squirms on their seats, eyes glued to his tongue skillfully twisting around his deadly lips.

Oh, how he did love teasing them so.

He leans closer, conspiratorially, before beckoning the rest to lean further in. When there is only a scant distance between his lips and their ears, he smirks and breathes freezing cold air on their ears.

Their short yelps bring a grin to his otherwise smooth face. Reaching for his juice and taking a drink, he almost smiles at the pout on Draco's face.

This was, after all, one thing he didn't need the young Malfoy knowing.

Theodore clears his throat from across the table, rubbing his ear slightly.

"My Lord," he begins, "you're definitely in a jovial mood today. Did something good happen?"

Harrison raises his brow; it seems as if the previous courage Theodore had shown at the start of their second year had returned. Excluding the foiled mutiny, the relatively peaceful term they had had bolstered the boy's confidence. Calming the tendrils of his magic as he watches the boy question him, he queries, "Is there a universal rule proclaiming the ban of any cheer I might feel?"

Realizing his question had seemed too prying, pretty pink rises on Theodore's cheeks. The last time he had questioned the boy in front of him was the disastrous train ride, and Theodore thinks that maybe remembering that would be detrimental to his flushed cheeks.

The air around Theodore is thick with lust and guilty remorse, and Harrison almost chuckles at the way the boy is squirming in his seat. Pretty pink flushes into bright red at Harrison's amusement. It brings the small scar under his right eye to prominence, and Harrison frowns.

With gloved fingers, Harrison reaches over the table and lightly scrapes the scarred flesh slowly. Theodore freezes, the blush darkening to a scarlet red.

"What happened?"

Theodore's long fingers spasm around his fork, trembling at the lingering touch. He hurries to reply, "A childhood accident, my Lord. My father believes a boy becomes a man when he wears his scar with pride."

Harrison leans back and scoffs as his thoughts drift towards his own scar on his forehead. When he had been a first year, he had other priorities to research on, such as his touch and the war, rather than on how to erase scars completely from skin. However, after the summer and his subsequent experiments on his dear captives, he had become extremely capable of manipulating flesh.

So, when he had seen his reflection as he was about to take a bath, drenched in the blood of his test subjects and skin glowing healthily with the consumption of a dozen souls, he had quickly put his knowledge to use. With pale, long fingers, he had gleefully bathed his scar with magic and urged the skin to grow anew and heal.

When the flash of magic had receded, expectant green eye had raised to look at his forehead through the mirror, only for the glass to shatter when Harrison realized Voldemort's mark on him had not disappeared.

The anger he had felt had driven him back down to his lab, his bath forgotten. All the remaining abducted muggles and wizards had died gruesomely that night, and Harrison had resigned himself to forever have the mark of the man who had Arthur killed.

"Your father doesn't know what he's talking about," he mocks, eyes flashing as he notices Theodore glance knowingly at the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. They narrow further at the offending scar on one of his Slytherins, and a painful, quick burst of overwhelming rage fills him as he continues to glare at the blemish on one of _his_ Slytherins. Abruptly, he reaches out and presses painfully hard against the boy's skin and knits the flesh together forcefully, erasing the scar completely.

A flash of blinding pain surrounds Theodore, so great that his vision turns white for a second, but he holds himself still and quiet. Harrison nods in approval, before smiling and letting his hand fall back.

"There, don't you look like a pretty thing now?" the Slytherin King murmurs in amusement, good mood restored.

Harrison watches as Theodore smiles widely, fingers fiddling with his cup in a raw moment of happiness.

From his side, he hears a soft scoff and the taste of anger and jealousy drown him.

"I don't know my Lord, Nott's eyes are too far apart to make him even resemble anything pretty," Draco comments in a bored tone.

Theodore startles out of his trance, glaring at the Malfoy seated beside his King. The boy seemed focused entirely on his food, chewing delicately. The Malfoy mask was slipping however, as was evident in the tight grip on his utensils and the slight furrow between his aristocratic eyebrows.

A nasty chuckle escapes the boy seated next to him, and Theodore turns his glare heatedly on the Lestrange. The two boys were extremely possessive of their King, constantly throwing words filled with snark and claws filled with jealousy. Theodore is certain that if given the chance, each boy would kill the other two in their unstable group to have Harrison all to themselves.

And, as Lestrange laughs in his face and Malfoy throws carefully worded barbs as if he was discussing the weather, Theodore thinks he would do the same.

Crossing his legs and straightening, Harrison inhales their utter devotion to him and their hatred towards each other, and smiles.

If Harrison had nothing else but them, he wouldn't mind so much, he thinks. These three would never abandon him; he would make sure to kill them before they even thought of it.

His smile widens in indulgence as the tension reaches a high, and he decides to promptly diffuse the bomb before the three leapt for their wands. Leaning forward, he rests his chin on a hand and drums the fingers of his other hand against the table in a bored manner.

"Now, now children, you are all pretty little things to me," he reassures emptily, chuckling when the three snarl at each other before returning to their meals sullenly. He is about to comment on how he expected them to get along when a pungent smell of fanatic desire fills his nostrils. Whipping around quickly and dissolving the wards around them in a blink of an eye, Harrison smiles in faux politeness at the man gliding towards him.

"Good day Headmaster, is there something wrong?" he asks, sending out calming sparks with his magic at the three who had tensed at the man's entrance. Harrison could tell that the abrupt appearance of the Headmaster had rattled them; even dear Orion had noticed the man only a second before the other two.

Then again, the Headmaster was quite the skilled wizard.

Steely blue eyes flash for a second, reflecting a sea of ugly hunger and heated intensity, before shifting into his kindly, grandfatherly twinkling. The change had happened too quickly for a human to notice, but the overpowering stench of the man's emotions saturated the area.

Harrison is hard-pressed to keep his nose from wrinkling in distaste.

A chuckle escapes wizened lips and the man waves his hands happily.

"Oh, there is nothing wrong, my dear boy," he says, "I merely wanted to tell you that since term break is right around the corner, tonight will be our last meeting."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Harrison blinks up at the man and casually blocks the half-hearted Legilimency attack with no effort. The frustration in the man surges, and Harrison hides his smirk in another smile. With the blocked attack, Harrison is treated to a cursory glimpse of the man's thoughts as the Legilimency attack rebounds on the caster.

 _Too far… need… control… Savior mine… Severus too close… Separate…_

"Of course, Headmaster. I look forward to it," Harrison replies politely, before turning back to his lunch as the man walks out of the Great Hall. Green eyes track his progress however, narrowing at the old wizard's back as he contemplates the man's thoughts.

It seems as if Harrison was in for a different lesson that night.

* * *

Harrison resurfaces from the pensieve, biting the inside of his cheek harshly to keep himself from panting. He now had the reason why the Dark Lord had singled out his family and attacked him at the tender age of one.

His father's journal had alluded that there was a prophecy, but what his father had failed to mention was how the Dark Lord had found out.

A bitter laugh leaves his lips before Harrison controls himself and steels his heart at the betrayal.

It seems as if Severus had some explaining to do.

As he is caught up in his thoughts, he almost doesn't notice the thin smell of disguised triumph from the old man. Almost.

* * *

He waits until it is the last day before the children return to their homes for the break, carefully ignoring the black eyes settled curiously on his frame. Harrison supposes he had deviated from his usual routine enough to arouse suspicion from his Head of House, with how he had withdrawn further into himself and rejected the confused comfort of one young Nott, the unhelpful homicidal anger of Lestrange at whatever caused this, and the probing grey eyes of his loyal Malfoy.

So, Harrison supposes it was not much of a surprise for Severus when he casually walks up from the shadows of the man's quarters and takes a seat beside the waiting man. In one smooth movement, he reaches forward for the still-piping hot cup of tea Severus had set out for him earlier on in anticipation and tucks a strand of his unbound hair behind his ear.

The man had not been startled when the boy had materialized out of nowhere, completely disregarding the door and any other possible entrances to his private chambers. He had merely blinked and paused in his grading of his third-year students' essays, before nodding at the boy and returning to his red ink and "Troll" labelled parchments.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, with Harrison sipping his tea contentedly- the professor always made the tea exactly the way he liked it- and Severus easily slashing at the parchments like it was a body, red ink blooming like the blood of an innocent on delicate flesh.

When Harrison finally sets his cup down on the table, tea finished, he stands and makes his way to the fireplace.

And with his back to the man and his green eyes flickering with the orange flames, he murmurs the question that had been plaguing his mind since his meeting with Dumbledore.

"Why did you tell the Dark Lord about the prophecy?"

The rustling of parchment and the scratching of the nib of Severus' quill stops, before a deep exhale is heard.

"So, that is what has you acting so apathetic to your peers," the man murmurs, before correcting himself, "well, more apathetic that usual."

Harrison offers up no response to that, and Severus heaves another sigh. He sets down his grading, before pinching the bridge of his nose.

He lets his hand fall to his side, glancing at the still form by his fireplace.

"I was a spy for the Dark Lord," he merely says, without any hint of deception or posturing, as if the fact he had spent his earlier years as a Death Eater was just that- a fact. Harrison is aware of how hard the admission must have been for the man, the man who had the very essence of suspicion threaded into his veins and never quite spoke of his allegiances, whether in the past or the present.

There is more silence, before Harrison, with his back still turned and stiff, asks another question.

"Do you regret it?"

And without hesitation, Severus replies honestly, "No."

A harsh laugh escapes Harrison's lips, and Severus can see his shoulders shaking. The boy slowly turns, and sharp emerald eyes pin him in place.

Harrison understood the Slytherin way, how one made alliances and linked their words together as if children in the playground linking pinky promises together. He understood that in the kill-or-be-killed world, any self-respecting Slytherin would choose to wrap their fingers around their wand and _slash_. He understood that it was a healthy dose of self-preservation and anger at the way the Light side trampled all over the Old Ways and Traditions and the very essence of Magic itself with their banning of anything that they feared, but…

"If the Dark Lord had no knowledge of the prophecy… then my own father wouldn't have turned me into this, this _monster_ ," he hisses, fingers trembling and curling as if to claw his flesh off.

A sinking feeling had begun in Severus' chest, and he forces himself to swallow past the lump in his throat. He has had suspicions of Harrison's dementor origins, of exactly _who_ had turned the boy into one. Because the Dursleys obviously couldn't have performed the black ritual, so who else had access to the infant but his parents?

The second-year continues, almost as if to get the confession off his tiny, shuddering shoulders and absolve himself of sin.

"If you hadn't told the Dark Lord, then my parents wouldn't have gone into hiding, and my own father wouldn't have experimented on me. If you hadn't told the Dark Lord, then I wouldn't have to wear these gloves and cover every inch of my skin. If you hadn't told the Dark Lord, then I wouldn't be so, so cold every day and every night," the boy states mildly, his tone at great contrasts with his trembling frame and the glacial temperature of the room.

Severus drags a pale hand through his hair, before exhaling softly and steeling his resolve.

"If I hadn't told the Dark Lord, your mother might still be alive, along with your idiotic father and his friends. Mister Longbottom's parents would be spared as well, and I daresay your Muggle-"

A sharp crack resounds in the room, as Severus finds himself pinned to the couch by a lithe body. Harrison had rushed forward, his volatile magic splintering the coffee table as he passed, and gripped the man's throat desperately in an attempt to stop the man in his anger.

"Don't," Harrison growls, fingers digging into the soft flesh and pressing harshly against the man's jugular.

Severus coughs, his pale face slowly shifting into a darker shade as his lungs protest the lack of air. He looks at furious emerald eyes, and at the sadness and loneliness beyond the anger, and suddenly he is back at the Muggle orphanage a million years ago with Harrison murmuring how the place was better than the world out of it, with eyes so old and haunted that they were an abyss.

And Severus submits, because if he had to die, at least it would be to a boy who is more broken than him.

Harrison tastes the change immediately, from panic and an overpowering smell of fear to resigned understanding and weariness. The shift is so abrupt that his fingers loosen from the stranglehold in surprise, and the man beneath him draws in a large gulp of needed air.

The anger leaves him suddenly, and his head drops tiredly on the man's shoulders.

After Severus regains a steady rhythm of breathing, he observes the boy lying heavily on top of him, and sighs. With a gentleness he had never thought himself capable of before he met Harrison, he arranges the boy's legs to straddle either side of his lap and shifts the boy's weight until they are both comfortable. He pauses for a moment, before reaching for his wand and spelling away their robes and Harrison's gloves.

With a start, Harrison half-jerks up, the movement so unlike his normal elegant actions, so _human_ , that a smile stretches the older man's lips. He lets his wand fall on the couch, before slowly wrapping his bare arms around the boy.

"After an upset like that, contact would do you wonders," he explains softly, his lips brushing a cold ear as he leans his cheek against the boy's.

A mild scoff escapes the boy and he quips, "When it comes from the man who is the cause of my current condition, you must see that it is extremely ironic."

A startled laugh escapes Severus, before silence falls between the two. The distinct feeling of touching Harrison's dementor skin, of fingers crawling deep in his bones and veins is ignored with practiced ease, and Severus bites his bottom lip, feeling quite ungainly and hulking as his mouth dries up with words he does not know how to say.

But as the icy, pale fingers cling tighter to his shirt and lean thighs tremble as they clench harder around him, he swallows and summons whatever courage he has and squeezes his arms tighter around the boy's waist.

"But if I hadn't told the Dark Lord, you wouldn't have ever met _him_. You wouldn't have killed the Dursleys and been moved to the orphanage, where you found him, or where he found you. And I wouldn't have been tasked to give your letter if you were still boarding at the Dursleys. I wouldn't have met you before school and I would have continued to hate James Potter's son, never giving him the chance to show that he is not merely someone's son, but his own person. If I had never told the Dark Lord, we wouldn't be like this," here, he pauses and nods his head at their position, before shifting the frigid body closer, "and you wouldn't have Mister Malfoy, Mister Lestrange, and Mister Nott by your side with the rest of the Slytherins, however unwilling the others might seem on occasion."

His words trail off as green, green eyes raise and pierce him like broken emerald shards.

"Those are a lot of ' _ifs'_ , Severus," Harrison says knowingly, before unraveling his fingers from the fabric of the man's shirt and placing them delicately on warm cheeks.

Severus watches as the frigid green diamonds turns into melted emerald, recognizing the look, and he relaxes his body as those liquid eyes move closer and closer. Icy lips brush his softly, hesitatingly, and Severus almost laughs at the question in them. Since he had met the boy, Harrison had forged onwards, almost as if he did not know how to stop and ask permission.

He does not close his eyes and Harrison does not close his either, so the boy can see the acceptance and agreement in them and pushes closer. Cold marble of a tongue swipes across the expanse of his lips, almost gently, almost reverently, and Severus thinks of just how it would seem if someone saw them, as if they were lovers.

And then Harrison's tongue finishes his worshipping of his lips and enters his mouth through their parting, and he thinks no more.

Harrison drinks in the taste of Severus, the scent of his emotions and the feel of his heated tongue sliding almost in an animalistic fashion against his. Fear and self-disgust and regret and anger and anxiety, dark emotions filling his throat and nostrils, threatening to choke him until he couldn't see.

But as Harrison continues to suck in the negative sentiments and the overwhelming taste of Severus' tongue, unable to stop and unwilling to stop, he begins to writhe as new emotions begin to course through him.

Kindness, worry, gentleness, confusion, wanting, affection, desire, lust, _warmth_ -

Long, potion-stained fingers grip his shaking hips tighter and pulls him closer as desire floods the man's veins.

Harrison thinks the older man had used Apparition, with how fast he had twisted their bodies until he was hovering over the younger boy, breathing hard and normally pale cheeks flushed with want. Black, black as the night sky on a rainy evening, black as the middle of a dark tunnel, black as the veins in Harrison's body, black eyes bore into green, conveying more than the emotions Harrison still tastes on his tongue.

A comforting hardness presses against Harrison's thigh, and the odor of self-disgust grows.

"I, I can't," Severus grits out, teeth grinding and hips shakily held still, unwilling to be frozen when all they want to do is rut against the cold pliant body underneath. He doesn't understand why the kiss had affected him differently than the one over the summer, why the kiss tasted like the best Firewhisky and dark chocolate instead of death, why the touch left him panting in pleasure as fire instead of icy fingers wriggled in his veins, why the voices in his mind that always searched for the exit in the room and categorized people into ones he couldn't trust and ones he could use finally became silent.

Kissing Harrison had become a sweet, sweet nectar, the Holy Grail, his deadly lips as the Promised Land. And yet, it had become the Forbidden Fruit, had become guilty desire as Severus comes to his senses, horror dawning on him as he stares at the parted red lips, the silky black locks spread against his couch like it belonged there, the glistening pale collarbone peeking out of roughly disheveled clothes of his second-year student.

He pushes himself back so fast that he falls onto the stone floor of the dungeons, but he could care less about the bruises he would be sure to find the next morning from his rough landing. He's bled for less in the past.

"I can't," he repeats in a stronger voice, regaining more and more of his sense now that he wasn't in contact with the younger boy.

Green ire flashes in Harrison's half-lidded eyes, and the boy bites back the anger as he is denied. The man had been willing just a few moments ago; he did not reserve the right to reject him.

Harrison tells the man so, and a flush of remorse and self-deprecation paints the professor's cheeks and neck.

"That was before-" Severus cuts himself off, appalled that he had been about to admit exactly how much Harrison had aroused him, and appalled that he had been affected in the first place. He is sure that Harrison was not as affected as him; kisses and bodily contact could only be seen as a meal for the boy, and the self-disgust grows within him as his thoughts had sexualized the feeding of an underaged boy.

A soft hum leaves Harrison's lips as he props himself up on his elbows, uncaring of his tousled clothing and hair.

"Before it began to feel good?" he queries mildly, innocently, the picture of an angel splayed devilishly for the man's taking, and Severus bites down hard on his tongue that he draws blood to prevent the soft groan from leaving his chest.

Harrison's nose twitches at the familiar scent of blood, eyes darkening in desire. He flows down the couch elegantly, his pale skin rippling like silver water reflecting the moonlight, and sits on the floor in front of Severus.

The kiss had affected him more than the countless others he had had. With his experiments, most emotions that had flowed down his throat had been negative in nature, dark and desperate. Even with Theodore, the fear was overpowering and the lust involuntary as Harrison forced the pleasure out with his tongue. And with Severus, the dark and desperate emotions had suddenly shifted into warmth and there was only one person who could feel warmth while Harrison's lips were on their skin.

"Arthur was mine," he begins abruptly and without warning, watching how Severus jumps at the sudden statement, "he was the only one who could make me warm."

He remembers the heat simmering between them, the almost painful way Arthur would trace his searing fingers on his skin gently like he was painting a masterpiece. He remembers the burning trail the older boy's lips would leave on his cheek to his neck as he murmured how perfect Harrison was. He remembers the pleasant twisting in his belly as those grey, grey eyes looked at him with so much _love_ , so content and Harrison could almost pretend it would last.

And then he remembers the way his breath caught when Arthur glared at him through his tears and fled. And he remembers that Arthur was dead, killed by monsters eating out of Voldemort's palm.

The pain of his death is still there, simmering lightly and continuously, like a snake lying in wait. After his summer breakdown however, Harrison had been able to force the hurt into submission, pressing it down until it did not threaten to drown him in grief. It was a determined effort, yet even just his head above the water was a triumph, ensuring his continued survival.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and sees Severus watching him with sorrow, all traces of lust gone in the wake of his sentence. He frowns, because he had not told the man in order to make him pity him.

"But then I met Draco and he was such a child, but he had the same eyes as Arthur and with every touch, the cold slowly retreated," he pauses, before searching the man's face and continuing, "But I've never felt as warm as I did with Arthur than with you."

"You're different," Harrison concludes, feeling his magic settle calmly at the words. He murmurs in wonder, "you're drawn to me, and I'm drawn to you."

And with that revelation, the pieces click, and anger begins to form again in his belly.

Severus hefts up an eyebrow in question as he sees Harrison tense, and his hand makes a pathetic twitch towards the boy.

"That's why Dumbledore showed me the memory, because he thinks we're getting too close and he believes that as his pawn I shouldn't be getting to close another adult," he forces out of his suddenly dry mouth, teeth aching to rip into the old man and _maul_. He had gone too far- with all the potions and the subtle threats to Draco, and now this.

He explains it all to Severus, watching as burning hatred and vile anger rises up, poisoning the man's view of the headmaster and forever shattering the already fragile trust between them. As a professor and a Potions Master, the mere horror of filling up a young child with a mixture of compulsion, truth, and suggestion potions was enough to make the man rage. A child as young as Harrison could and would become addicted to the potions, his mind clouding until it crumbled under the weight of thoughts not his own. Not to mention the damage the concoction would do to the young child's undeveloped magical core.

It was a crime, one that could be punished by a lengthy stay in Azkaban, as children were meant to be treasured and taken care of.

Harrison watches as the anger builds and builds inside of Severus, like a furnace, and sighs contentedly. He shifts closer and smiles when the man does not move away, smiles as potion-drenched fingers coming up to rest absently on his waist, smiles as the anger simmers and morphs into resigned acceptance.

 _Warmth._

* * *

Come term break, Harrison spends his time in his basement. He is unwilling to give up on his experiments, unwilling to let Voldemort win. The Dark Lord is sure to retaliate soon, with Harrison's brutal murder of his Death Eaters fueling the man's ire against him. And when he does, Harrison won't be caught off guard again.

When Christmas morning arrives with a flurry of owl-delivered presents and mail, Harrison smiles as he reads the letters filled with subtle hints of Voldemort's activities, or what little his Snakes were able to overhear from their parents.

And as he reads the between the lines of Draco's letter, his smile grows sharper and pointed teeth flash.

* * *

Author's Note.

Okay. So it's been agessss since the last chapter and I've just been so busy. I graduated college (yay me), broke it off with my boyfriend (not so yay), and started working so it's been a couple of hectic months.

I just want to thank everyone who's stayed and those who continue to read my story. I had a plot when I started, but now this little monster has sort of gotten away from me and I've just been running with it haha. This chapter's merely about tying up some loose ends and showing some interactions between Harry and the people around him. And never fear, to those who have issues with Harry's emotions and all, it'll all be explained soon haha. I'm not just writing unnecessary angst (though I do love stories drenched in it).

Cheers! To the next update, which I have absolutely no idea when I'll finish it.


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